


Neither Here Nor There

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek New Year's Extravaganza [27]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Derek Hale, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Kidnapping, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Scenting, Senator’s Son Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-10 03:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Oh!” He turned to Stiles. “Is he your new bodyguard?”Derek saw Stiles stiffen at that, wondering why, but before Stiles could open his mouth to insist that, why yes, Derekwashis bodyguard like the brat he was, Derek spoke first.“I’m Mieczyslaw Stilinski’s bodyguard.”The confused look that crossed Scott’s face now was kind of annoying. Scott looked at Stiles, then back at Derek, and then at Stiles again.“I see…?”(SNYE - January 27th - Bodyguards)





	Neither Here Nor There

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Derek Hale had tuned out the strawberry blonde walking in front of him almost five minutes ago. It wasn’t that what she said wasn’t important, but more that her shrill voice and authoritative tone was beginning to grate on his last nerve. He was sure she was a perfectly lovely person, and she seemed to know what she was doing, but it irked him having to take orders from someone who was clearly many years younger than him.

How someone in their early twenties could’ve gotten this job, he honestly had no idea, but he could only assume she was as smart as she seemed to be. Then again, if she was really that smart, she probably would’ve realized long before now that he wasn’t interested in a tour and hadn’t been listening to a word she’d said.

It wasn’t until they rounded the last corner that she said something related to his actual job and he tuned back in, following her while she pointed out another room.

“This tends to be where he spends most of his time when he’s home. If you can actually find him. Like I said, you’ll be his twelfth detail in as many weeks.” She turned to look at him, her expression making it explicitly clear she was unimpressed with his charge. “He likes to sneak out, so try and keep an eye on him, would you?”

Derek said nothing, considering that to be a given. He would be a fairly terrible bodyguard if he wasn’t keeping an eye on the person he was meant to be watching.

The strawberry blonde in front of him—he thought her name was Lydia Martin, but he could be wrong since he hadn’t paid much attention to her when she’s introduced herself—consulted the tablet she was holding, tapping a few things and swiping others out of the way while they continued walking.

“He should be back in the next hour, provided he even bothered to _go_  to his classes. He’s a little bit of a genius, so he likes to skip and make my life miserable hunting him down for the Senator.” They finally stopped outside a door marked ‘Security,’ and the woman turned to him, holding the tablet against her stomach with her left hand, the right gripping her left wrist. “Boyd will bring you down when he’s scheduled to return, you can wait for him in his room. If you’d prefer to head down early, get the lay of the land, you’re welcome to do that, too. A few things of note for you about him.” She took on a more clipped tone now, as if needing to ensure he fully understood what she was about to tell him.

“Senator Stilinski’s son is the most important person in the world to him. He is not a forgiving man when it comes to him, and he _will_  fire you if you mess up. There have been a lot of unhappy people out and about since the Senator pushed through the Supernatural act that allows more freedom than Supernatural beings used to have, so the last thing he needs is his son getting hurt because of a bill he pushed through. If his son is hurt, you will pay dearly, understood?”

Derek just nodded once, hating that she was treating him like an idiot. Derek had done his homework before accepting this job, and on top of that, he’d specifically _wanted_  this job because of who the Senator _was_.

Senator Noah Stilinski was the only reason Derek had survived the past few years. That man was a gift to all Supernatural beings, and an even greater ally to the under-represented in general. Racism, sexism, homophobia, all of those things did not fly with Senator Stilinski, and from the first time Derek saw him speaking publicly, he knew he would lay down his life for this man.

He wasn’t at a level where he could offer his life for him, but he’d take the next best thing and protect his son instead. Something that was sounding more and more difficult as the day progressed, from the sounds of it.

“Now, for his son.” Lydia pulled the tablet back up, tapping away on it. “Mieczyslaw Stilinski—”

“What?” Derek interrupted before he could help himself.

She looked annoyed, and repeated the name slowly, as if thinking he were an idiot. “Mieczyslaw Stilinski. With me so far? I’ve only gotten his name out and already you’re confused, this doesn’t bode well.”

Derek scowled at her and crossed his arms, seeing her eying the bulge of his biceps but she said nothing and looked back down at her tablet.

“Mieczyslaw never wanted to be in this position. He strongly opposed his father running, and even now resents him for it. Don’t misunderstand, he isn’t unsupportive, it’s more he worries for his father’s health.

“He does not like being under a microscope, which is why, more often than not, people are unable to get any photographs of him. He likes to fly under the radar, and sneak out on his detail. He doesn’t believe he’s in any danger, and he certainly doesn’t like being babysat.”

Derek scowled again. Anyone who was selfish enough to run out on their detail because they didn’t like being “babysat” was probably not worth any bullets Derek would have to take for him.

Sure, he was a Werewolf and would heal relatively quickly, but still.

Bullets hurt.

“We’ll know fairly quickly whether or not you’ll last, but as I said,” she lowered the tablet once more, “he goes through detail the same way I go through shoes. Don’t get comfortable, you probably won’t be here very long.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but Derek would just have to prove her wrong. He would work hard, trail this Mieczyslaw—fucking mouthful of a name—everywhere and when the other tried to sneak out on him, he would follow his nose right to him.

“You’re a Werewolf, right?” Lydia asked, eying him. “Hopefully you can keep him in line more than the humans can.”

He frowned at her words. “Humans? Are you not human?”

She gave him an offended look. “Banshee. One would think a Wolf would be able to tell that.”

Derek said nothing. She certainly _smelled_  human, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. She might break her tablet across his face at the insult.

“Any questions?” she asked when it became clear he wasn’t going to contribute anything further to the conversation.

“When can I expect him back?”

“Don’t worry,” she said, pushing open the door they were in front of, leading into a security room, “even if you look for him, you probably won’t find him. He’ll come to you. If you’re worth his time. Have fun.”

She walked away, Derek scowling after her, heels clicking rapidly down the marble corridor.

“Great,” he muttered, moving into the small room and looking around at all the cameras. There was already someone seated in the room, back to him, but they made no move to acknowledge his presence. He assumed they were distracted with texting or a game on their phone, but when he moved up beside them, they were watching the screens intently.

Derek turned his attention to the screens as well, trying to get a better feel for the large house from the images alone. He could tell based on scent that the man beside him was also a Werewolf, but as he didn’t acknowledge him, Derek didn’t either. He found Mieczyslaw’s room fairly quickly, since it was a huge mess, and had to wonder how it must feel to be under watch at all hours of the day. He supposed he understood why the kid ran off all the time. He probably just wanted a minute to breathe.

Not that he was a kid, exactly. He was twenty years old, according to his file, but based on what he sounded like, he acted fairly childish even if Derek felt he partly understood. It wasn’t fair to his father to run off on his detail, because it made the man worry. It wasn’t fair on the detail when he did it because it got them fired. Derek was going to have to pay special attention to this one, but he was good at his job, so he wasn’t concerned. He was fairly certain the reason he’d gotten hired here was because of _how_  good he’d been in his previous position.

Checking the time, Derek decided the sooner he was in the kid’s room, the better. He checked the camera for the best blind spot—since the ones in bedrooms always had one for when people changed—and headed out.

“Good luck,” the gruff guy at the monitors said.

Derek didn’t acknowledge him and just left the room. He had to wander around slowly to get his bearings, trying to memorize the lay of the land and reconcile it with the blueprints he’d already memorized. If he was right, then the room down the corridor on the right was Mieczyslaw’s room.

Reaching the appropriate door, he knocked for good measure, then pushed it open. He recoiled immediately.

The room smelled heavily of lemon-scented cleaner, as if multiple bottles had been upended onto every available surface. He scowled, stepping further into it and looked around. It was hard to breathe with the overwhelming scent, but he struggled through it and wandered around the room. He picked up a few discarded shirts from the ground, trying to pick up his charge’s scent so he’d have it no matter what, but even his shirts reeked of cleaner. He scowled, dropping them back down and headed for the window.

Testing it, he found it opened fairly easily, which was a bit of a concern and explained how the Senator’s son kept disappearing. In a way, Derek wondered what the point of giving him a bodyguard was if he was just going to avoid them. Just let the shit get shot once, it’d teach him a lesson.

When the smell of cleaner started overwhelming him, Derek turned to make his way back out of the room. He’d been planning on hanging out in the camera’s blind spot in case Mieczyslaw came home and tried to check where his detail was, but Derek was literally gagging at the smell of cleaner.

If the kid knew his new detail was a Werewolf, that probably explained it. He was likely trying to cover up his scent so that Derek wouldn’t have it readily available. Not that he wouldn’t figure it out the moment they met, but that was _provided_  they met.

He’d just exited the room and was about to close the door when he was aware of a presence beside him and he whipped around, one hand pushing his suit jacket aside and the other going for his gun.

There was someone standing on the right side of the door just as Derek exited the room. He looked to be around the same age as the girl from before, Lydia, and was wearing faded jeans, a graphic tee and a plaid overshirt. His hair was on the long side and sticking up haphazardly, and he was grinning at Derek like he was about to have a lot of fun.

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski?” Derek asked uncertainly, hand still on the butt of his gun.

“Stiles,” the other corrected with a small headshake. So not his charge, then. “You must be the new meat.”

Derek looked around briefly, noticing other people in the area, but none seemed concerned about this Stiles person so he assumed they were staff or something. He relaxed his posture, pulling his jacket back over the gun.

“I don’t have time for inane conversations with children. I’m waiting for Mieczyslaw. Get lost.”

Stiles’s eyebrows shot up and slowly, a grin spread across his face. Derek ignored him and checked the time. His charge should have arrived home by now, but even Lydia had commented that it was dependent on whether or not he’d even _gone_  to class. Great. Just great. His first day and he’d lost Mieczyslaw already.

“You’re a Werewolf, right?”

Derek turned his attention back of the child lingering around and wondered what his deal was. He was still grinning at Derek like he was some huge joke.

“Yes,” he bit out. “Don’t you have a job to be tending to?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Stiles leaned back more comfortably again the wall, crossing his arms. “My best friend’s a Werewolf. Seems pretty awesome being able to hear and see and smell like you guys do. I was offered the bite, but not everyone survives, so I figured it’d be best for me to stay human. It’s not so bad, really. Has its perks. What’s your name, anyway?”

Derek just scowled at him, wondering what his deal was. He would’ve thought he’d gotten lost on a tour if the Senator’s house _did_  tours and his assistant weren’t so young. As it stood, maybe this guy was head of security or something, nothing would surprise him, at this point.

He didn’t have time for this, though. He needed to figure out where Mieczyslaw was, and do so quickly before he got fired.

Turning on his heel, he started hurrying back towards the security room where Boyd was—he thought his name was Boyd, Lydia had called him that.

“Hey, wait!” Stiles hurried to catch up to him, walking alongside him quickly and continuing to grin. “You didn’t give me your name.”

“I don’t have time for you,” he snapped. “I’m trying not to get fired on my first day!”

“Don’t worry, nobody gets fired unless the Senator is informed of people’s incompetence. And only his son will let him know if someone needs firing.”

“And I shouldn’t worry?” Derek bit out, finding the security room and pushing the door open. “Hey, where’s the shithead at?” he asked, moving right up to the desk and leaning forward beside the other man so he could look at the screens. He heard him shift in his chair, and a jovial voice say,

“Hey Boyd!”

“Stiles...” the guard shifted his gaze to Derek, but said nothing else.

Derek ignored his questioning look for the most part, scanning all the screens but he couldn’t see anyone who looked like they might be Mieczyslaw.

“Can I get a picture or his scent or something?” Derek grumbled. “What _is_  he, a master escape artist?”

“You know, I think I saw him leave a while ago,” Stiles said from behind him. “Maybe we can head out and look for him together. It’ll be a good bonding experience for us.”

“Can you _please_  go back to your own fucking job,” Derek snapped, still scanning the cameras. “I don’t want to get fired!”

“You _won’t_. God. Boyd, tell him.”

Derek turned to the guard, who was looking between them uncertainly, but when he caught Derek looking at him, he nodded slowly.

“The Senator has only ever fired people his son has deemed incompetent.”

“Well if I can’t _find_  the kid, I’m going to be considered _pretty_  incompetent,” Derek snapped.

He saw Boyd cast a glance in Stiles’ direction, but he didn’t say anything. When Derek turned to scowl behind him at the moron lingering in the doorway, Stiles just grinned jovially.

They were both totally getting a kick out of this. They thought it was fucking _funny_  that Derek couldn’t find Mieczyslaw. Maybe there was a bet going on to how long Derek would last and Stiles was winning.

Seriously though, Derek wasn’t going to give up. He was sure he could find the kid regardless of what they thought.

Turning, Derek stalked out of the room, Stiles calling, “Bye Boyd!” and then following him. Derek glanced over his shoulder to glare at him.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he snapped.

“I’m just keeping you company,” Stiles informed him jovially.

“I don’t want your company.”

“Oh trust me, you do.”

Derek ignored him and kept wandering through the large house, Stiles following behind him with his hands in his pockets.

He yammered _non-stop_  while doing so, asking Derek questions and then making up his own answers when Derek didn’t respond. He seemed to like the sound of his own voice and it was _really_ grating on Derek’s last nerve.

When they rounded another corner, Derek just walking around in circles now, they saw the Senator and his usual entourage heading in their direction. He was speaking to Lydia, who was walking right beside him, both of them staring down at the same clipboard, the older man pointing at something.

Derek stiffened and froze for two reasons. The first was because he was actually in the presence of Senator Stilinski, who he admired a great deal. The second was because he was meant to be guarding Mieczyslaw and was instead wandering around the house.

“Oh shit!” Stiles blurted from behind him. When Derek half-turned to see what he was doing, Stiles had plastered himself against the wall and had pulled a few branches from the large plant he was beside in front of his face, as if trying to hide.

The Senator looked up at the sound of the curse. His eyes found Derek, then Stiles, and he rolled them so hard his head went with them. Lydia herself was looking between Derek and Stiles, gaze calculating, but she said nothing.

The group stopped in front of Derek, even though he’d stepped aside to let them pass, and Lydia motioned him.

“Senator, this is Derek Hale, your son’s new daytime bodyguard.”

“It’s good to meet you, Derek.”

When he held his hand out, Derek almost had a meltdown. Senator Stilinski wanted to shake his fucking hand. This was the greatest day of his life—and also the worst because _he couldn’t find his son_!

Reaching out, he took hold of the Senator’s hand and the man gave it a firm shake.

“Don’t let him jerk you around. He’s a handful, but he’s not a bad kid.”

“Yes sir,” Derek replied, mouth dry.

The man smiled at him, then he and his entourage started walking away, but not before he turned to the badly hidden figure against the wall.

“Stiles,” he greeted familiarly.

“Senator,” the other said formally, still pretending to be hidden.

The group of them left, Derek watching them go, and then his heart started beating double time when they rounded the corner.

He _had_  to find the elusive little shit!

When he turned to continue stalking down the corridor, Stiles caught up to him, walking alongside him and grinning.

“See? Not fired. You worry too much. Worrywolf.”

Derek turned to him sharply, stopping in the middle of the hallway and glaring hard. “Is this a joke to you? You realize if anything happens to the kid it’s my fault, right?”

“Technically it’s his. Whatever dude, if the kid gets shot, maybe he’ll learn to stop ditching his detail.”

Derek frowned, finding it odd they’d had the exact same thought, though he wasn’t going to tell Stiles that.

“What do you _do_  here, anyway?” Derek demanded, beginning to walk once more and heading in another direction.

“Oh no, you didn’t even share your _name_ , Mr. Derek Hale,” Stiles insisted, keeping up with him. It occurred to Derek that he’d heard it when Lydia had been introducing him to the Senator. “You don’t get any answers.”

“Whatever,” he snapped, frustration beginning to peek through. “Just stay away from me.”

“Oh, you don’t want that,” Stiles said happily, but didn’t elaborate and Derek didn’t care enough to ask.

They wandered around the large house for hours, Derek opening and closing random doors and becoming more and more distressed. What if Stiles was right and Mieczyslaw had left? When he went to the garage though—Stiles following the whole time—the guard at the front pointed to a piece of shit Jeep and said that was always the one the Senator’s son took when he left the premises. The only other option was if he took a cab, but it usually drove up to the house, and nothing had come by today, so he _had_  to be around this place _somewhere_!

“Welp! This has been fun,” Stiles said, checking his phone, likely for the time with how quickly he replaced it. “But I gotta jet. Changing of the guard and all that. See ya later, Derek.”

“Hopefully not,” he snapped after him.

“Trust me,” Stiles called down the corridor, walking backwards and away from him, “you wanna keep me around.”

Derek wished he’d stop saying that, because it made no sense and was pissing him off.

He wandered around for an additional ten minutes, then angrily checked the time and realized his shift was over. He’d started mid-day, so it made sense it hadn’t been long, but he couldn’t believe he’s spent his entire shift _looking_  for who he was supposed to be _protecting_.

Angry with himself and _definitely_  needing a drink, he decided he’d be by early the next day to ensure he was around for when Mieczyslaw woke up. He wasn’t going to let him get away again.

Derek was nodding to the various staff on his way to the door when he heard someone calling after him. He turned, and almost panicked at the sight of Senator Stilinski hurrying in his direction with a big smile on his face.

“Derek, right?” he asked, stopping a few feet in front of him.

“That’s right,” he said apprehensively.

“I just wanted to come by and personally tell you what a great job you did today.”

Had Derek fallen into another dimension where he _hadn’t_  spent all day looking for his son? Because if so, _great_ , he wanted to live here!

“I know he can be a bit of a handful, and to be honest, he usually has his bodyguards chasing him around on their first day, but when I spoke to him, he said you were great and he actually didn’t mind having you around. You’re the first person I’ve hired as his detail that he hasn’t immediately complained about! I mean, it’s still early, but this is huge. You’re doing a great job. Keep up the good work.”

What was happening? What was he talking about?

All Derek could think was that Mieczyslaw had realized there was no way for him to escape the bodyguards if he kept running from them, so instead he was just going to pretend he’d spent the day with his appointed guard to avoid having him fired and replaced with a new one.

Ingenious, really, but untrue. He didn’t feel comfortable lying to the Senator, but before he could get a word out, the man patted him on the shoulder, wished him a good night, and headed back up the corridor.

Derek watched him go, confused and irritated and guilty.

 _Tomorrow,_ he decided. _I’ll protect him tomorrow. Let’s see the little shit escape me then._

* * *

_“I don’t see what the problem is,”_  Cora’s bored voice drawled down the line, his sister clearly not seeing the concern. _“The Senator likes you, and you got away with not doing your job for three days while getting **paid**  for it. All in all, win-win in my opinion. I don’t see what you’re complaining about.”_

“It’s unethical,” Derek insisted, surfing the channels on TV, slouching so bad on his couch he was seconds away from sliding right off it. “He thinks I’m keeping track of his son, and instead I’m just wandering around trying to _find_  the damn kid and being followed around by an annoying child who talks too much.”

 _“To you, **everyone**  talks too much,”_ Cora supplied helpfully.

“If his son gets shot, it’s on me.”

_“No, if his son gets shot, it’s on **him**. If he’s going to disappear on you, that’s his problem.”_

And he _had_  been, too. He _had_  been disappearing on him. Derek didn’t know how he did it! Every morning he showed up for his shift, with the night bodyguard looking worn out and exhausted, insisting he’d been chasing after Mieczyslaw all evening before the asshole finally went to bed. And every time Derek went to his room to get a look at him or a sniff of him or _anything_  so that he knew what he _looked_  like, he found it empty. It was like he had a tracker on Derek, and no matter what time he showed up at, Mieczyslaw _knew_  he was there and disappeared out of thin air.

If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d assume the Senator’s son was some kind of Teleporting or Invisible Supernatural and the man was just fucking with people because he thought it was funny.

But Derek _knew_  that wasn’t true. The Senator kept beaming at Derek like a proud father, continuously telling him he was doing a great job and to keep up the good work, and Derek didn’t have the heart to admit to him that he’d still yet to _meet_  him. Mieczyslaw could’ve been _kidnapped_ , for all Derek knew. The only comfort he had was that Boyd insisted he was fine, and while that didn’t necessarily mean much, at least the kid wasn’t _dead_.

 _“As fun as listening to your life fall apart around you is,”_  Cora said, Derek scowling at the TV in response, _“I’m going now._ The Bachelorette _is on and I don’t feel like missing that to listen to you whine and complain.”_

“Thanks, Cora.”

_“Later, loser.”_

She hung up and Derek tossed his phone aside, annoyed. He hated that he wasn’t doing his job properly, it made him feel incompetent. How was it the kid was outsmarting him? Even when the night guard was _adamant_  that Mieczyslaw had spent the night in his room, Derek would go in there and only smell cleaner. What, was he dumping a fresh bottle out onto his bed on a daily basis? It seemed kind of ridiculous for him to be going to such lengths, not to mention he didn’t know how the other could sleep in there, let alone _breathe_. Sure, he was a Werewolf, but Derek was _positive_  this was affecting Mieczyslaw, too.

Derek’s gaze shifted towards the door, scowling when someone knocked loudly, but he grunted and tossed the remote aside before getting to his feet and wandering over to it. He frowned when he approached it, recognizing the scent coming through the door, but was positive his nose was wrong.

Apparently it wasn’t, because when he opened the door, Stiles beamed at him from the other side, waving slightly.

Derek started, honestly not having thought that would be who stood on the other side of his door when he opened it.

“Stiles!”

“Is this where you live?” he asked, still beaming, and shoved his way into the apartment. “Neat-o. Hey, is that the Discovery Channel? Awesome!”

Derek was still mostly in shock, which explained why he hadn’t stopped Stiles from entering the apartment. He shut his door, completely dumbfounded, and turned to look at the other. He’d fallen onto Derek’s couch, getting comfortable and kicking off his shoes so he could tuck them up under himself.

“What are you doing here?” Derek demanded, moving back to the couch and staring at Stiles while he watched TV.

“Just visiting.” Stiles looked away from what he was watching to smile brightly at Derek, then looked back at the television.

“Visiting,” Derek echoed. “How did you even know where I live?”

“It’s in your file,” Stiles informed him, eyes glued to the television.

Derek marched around the couch to grab the remote, turning to shut off the TV and then glaring down at Stiles, who made a loud noise of protest.

“How did you gain access to my file?”

Stiles’ previous distress disappeared instantly and he grinned up at Derek, looking like a deranged Cheshire cat. “Wouldn’t _you_  like to know.”

“I would, actually.” Derek crossed his arms, keeping a firm grip on the remote when he saw Stiles eying it.

Neither of them spoke for a long while, staring at one another, and Derek was determined to make Stiles crack first. Given how much he’d been talking the past three days, he figured it was a given, and felt smug when he was proven right.

Only Stiles didn’t say what he’d been expecting.

“I don’t want to go home,” he whispered, averting his gaze and pulling at a loose thread on his jeans. “I don’t like being there.”

Derek frowned at this, for some reason becoming instantly protective. He might not have known Stiles very well, and he was _definitely_  annoying, but he was a good kid, and seemed exceptionally smart.

“What’s going on at home?” he asked, voice sharper than intended. “Is there a problem at home I need to take care of for you?”

Stiles looked up at him, startled, then smiled at him. It was the first genuine smile Derek had seen on his face since meeting him, and he found that smiling suited him exceptionally well.

“No, nothing like that.” Stiles shook his head. “It’s just... lonely, I guess. I don’t get to spend a lot of time with my family, and everyone else around the place treats me... I don’t know.” He shrugged, pulling at the thread again. “I like spending time with you. You make me feel less alone.”

That was probably the saddest thing Derek had ever heard, and were he anyone else, he would have hugged Stiles. But, he was Derek, so he didn’t. It made him wonder what happened at home that made Stiles feel alone even when he seemed to be around a lot of people.

Considering, Derek figured that was why he talked so much.

Also, anyone who thought spending time with _Derek_  was a good thing was someone who obviously was very unhappy with their life. Even Cora didn’t like spending time with him, and she was his _sister_ , which basically meant she was _obligated_  to spend time with him. Someone who _willingly_  wanted to spend time with him was unheard of.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, Derek turned the television back on and headed for the kitchen to make dinner. It was almost eight, but he’d been procrastinating it for a while because he was grumpy. Now, he didn’t want to kick Stiles out, but he didn’t want to sit on the couch with him inhaling his misery, so food was best.

Stiles was the quietest he’d ever been in the seventy-two hours Derek had known him, and when he returned to the couch with a bowl of soup and a cup of decaffeinated coffee, the other looked to be completely engrossed in what was currently playing on the discovery channel.

Derek let him watch it in silence until the next commercial, and when Stiles turned to him, Derek asked, “So what do you _do_ , anyway?”

Stiles just shrugged. “Whatever I’m told.”

That made Derek frown in confusion. “So like... a gopher?”

Snorting, Stiles leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms, slouching almost as much as Derek had been earlier. “Sure. A gopher.”

They were silent while Derek ate, the program coming back on. When it ended, Derek turned to Stiles again.

“What’s he like?”

“Who?” Stiles asked, distracted, watching the end card for what was coming up next.

“Mieczyslaw.”

Stiles turned to him, surprised. “Wow, you said it correctly. No one ever says it correctly.”

“I admire the Senator a great deal,” Derek admitted, and he could tell Stiles was extremely happy at having the conversation going both ways, for once. “I made it my business to know as much as I could. Don’t know what he looks like, or how he is as a person, though. All public records are pretty scarce.”

“No one likes being under a microscope,” Stiles muttered, looking back at the TV. “Least of all someone who doesn’t want to be there.”

“He seems really good at evading the cameras.”

“Lots and lots of practice,” was Stiles’ response.

“So you’ve met him, then.” Derek turned to him, slightly more interested.

Stiles let out a snort. “You could say that.”

“What’s he like, then? Why is he such an asshole to his bodyguards?” Derek frowned. “He’s going to get me fired.”

“Relax.” Stiles waved one hand at him. “You’re not gonna get fired. As long as nothing bad about you reaches higher up, you’ll be fine.”

“I haven’t even found Mieczyslaw yet, and I’ve been working there for three days,” Derek said coldly, eyes narrowing at how dismissive Stiles was. This was his livelihood, he’d like to be able to eat this coming month.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.” Stiles was still staring at the television, but he had the ghost of a smile on his lips. Derek just scowled at him, then turned back to whatever they were watching, arms crossed.

They didn’t speak again for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

Derek was _extremely_  out of sorts the next morning, because he’d fallen asleep on the couch, woke up late for work, and Stiles was passed out beside him. He was actually kind of adorable when his mouth was shut, and Derek was kind of happy he hadn’t chased him off. As annoying as Stiles could be while he was searching high and low for Mieczyslaw, at least he was entertaining.

And despite Derek’s prickly personality, he was still sticking around. Hell, spending time with a grumpy asshole like Derek made him feel less _lonely_. That was insane, if Derek was honest, but he’d accept it.

He got dressed in record time, then shook Stiles awake, figuring he was _also_  late for work. Stiles cursed when he saw the time, and when he tried to turn his phone on, the screen remained black, the battery obviously dead. They hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but they’d started watching a documentary on the Lost city of Atlantis, and had both been so engrossed in it that before Derek knew it, it was two in the morning, and the next thing up was mysterious caves beneath Mexico. He’d fallen asleep at some point during that one, and had no idea when Stiles had.

“I’ll drive you home so you can change,” Derek said while they both hurried out of his apartment and towards the stairs. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Don’t worry about me, we need to get you where you’re expected to be. Trust me, I’m fine.”

Derek continued arguing about it the entire way down to the car, but when Stiles refused to provide his home address, he had no choice but to just head to work. They made it through the gate and onto the main estate relatively easily, but the entire front hall was a flurry of activity when Derek entered. Stiles seemed to be trying to hide behind him, but a guard across the room shouted,

“Stiles!”

Everyone instantly turned to look at Derek, who froze and stared right back. He heard Stiles sigh, and then he moved out from behind his human shield.

“Hey Isaac.”

“What the hell, Stiles!” The guard—Isaac, apparently—rushed forward while everyone else grumbled and seemed to disperse, one person speaking into an earpiece and looking extremely put out.

“Derek, this is Isaac. Isaac, Derek.” Stiles motioned between them, as if he wasn’t being glared at hard enough to melt his skin off.

“Where the hell have you been?! We’ve been looking for you _everywhere_! Your dad almost had a fit!”

“I was with Derek.” Stiles motioned him. “It’s fine, he’s a bodyguard.” A slow smile spread across Stiles’ face but Isaac just scowled at him angrily, crossing his arms.

He could tell the other man was a Werewolf, and the familiarity between him and Stiles made him wonder about their relationship. He recalled Stiles mentioning something about a Werewolf best friend and he motioned Isaac with a jerk of his chin.

“This your friend, then?”

“Who, Isaac?” Stiles asked incredulously, then laughed. “Don’t be dense, Derek. Isaac’s got a stick way too far up his ass to be friends with me.”

Derek was sure Isaac had a colourful retort to that, but before he could get it out, the sound of familiar heels clicking against marble met his ears and he turned in time to see Lydia striding angrily towards them, tablet in hand. Stiles tried to hide behind Derek again, but it didn’t stop the strawberry blonde from reaching around him to grab at his ear.

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Lydia! I need that later, it’s my phone ear!” Stiles insisted while she dragged him out from behind Derek.

“The Senator would like a word,” she bit out, then began dragging him away by the ear.

Stiles complained the entire way across the entrance and disappeared up a flight of stairs. Derek turned to Isaac somewhat nervously.

“He’s not about to get fired, is he?” He would never admit it aloud, but he actually felt like his day might be boring without Stiles around.

Isaac gave him a weird look, then said, “Funny. You’re funny.”

He turned and left without another word, Derek sighing and raking a hand through his hair. He figured he may as well try and find Mieczyslaw, though wasn’t exactly going to hold out hope for today. He hadn’t found him the past three days, he doubted today would be any different.

Regardless, he headed through the house to where he knew Mieczyslaw’s room was and opened the door without bothering to knock. As predicted, it was empty, the Senator’s son long gone. He sighed, dejected, and started to close the door when he realized the scent of cleaner wasn’t as strong today as it had been the day before.

It was a lost cause finding _any_  scents under all that, of course, but it just wasn’t quite as _strong_  today. It was like Mieczyslaw hadn’t had the chance to douse the room in lemon cleaner to kill Derek’s nose with.

He figured he’d been leaving in a rush, probably to avoid Derek, which ended up being for nothing given he was two hours late for work. He kept waiting for someone to come and reprimand him, but nobody paid him any attention.

Deciding to go and see Boyd, since he had nothing better to do, he walked into the security room and saw the other turn to him, nodding in greeting before returning to his screens.

Derek liked Boyd. He was calm and quiet and somehow comforting. His presence made Derek feel less anxious about having lost Mieczyslaw on a daily basis, and he actually believed Boyd when the other man insisted that he was safe and there was nothing to worry about.

The kid probably had an underground bunker or something he liked to hide in.

“Stiles was with you last night?” Boyd asked, eyes still on the screen.

Derek grunted confirmation while scanning them himself. He could see the Senator in one of the offices, flailing his arms about in an angry rant and jabbing his finger at someone off-screen—who was likely Stiles, given Lydia’s words.

“Word of advice,” Boyd said, never taking his eyes off the screens in front of him. “Next time you’re with him outside the house, call Lydia. Or me. Just let someone know.”

“Why?” Derek cocked an eyebrow. Why would anyone need to know when Stiles left for the day, he presumably had a home to go to.

“He didn’t tell anyone where he went. His family was worried.”

Oh. Derek hadn’t thought of that. Obviously, Stiles _had_  a family, he’d mentioned as much the night before. Derek just hadn’t really clued in to the fact that someone would be missing him because Stiles implied that nobody really noticed him at home.

“How old is Stiles, anyway?” Derek asked with a frown.

“Just turned twenty in the spring.”

“Huh.” It was weird that his family would be worried about him, given he was an adult and practically old enough to drink, but he supposed some families could be overprotective. His parents had been like that with Cora, which explained why she’d booked it out of there as soon as she turned eighteen. Derek often wondered—very briefly before feeling guilty about it—why he’d never been important enough to his parents to warrant their over-protectiveness.

He supposed that was why he’d started doing dangerous things that had eventually led to him being a bodyguard, but still. He supposed he could kind of see where Stiles’ family was coming from. Stiles was pretty eccentric and unpredictable.

“What’s his deal?” Derek asked.

Boyd shifted his gaze away from the camera then, eying Derek briefly. “Deal?”

“Yeah. Stiles. He hangs around all the time, but I never see him working. He goes out one night and his family freaks. He gets called to the Senator the second we arrive to get yelled at. Just... what’s his deal?”

Boyd turned back to the cameras, the Senator still in the same frame. He looked exhausted, rubbing at his face with both hands before waving Stiles away with a jerk of one of them. Stiles appeared on the screen a second later outside the office, and he slammed the door so hard Derek felt like he’d heard it from across the large mansion.

“You should probably go make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Boyd suggested.

Derek didn’t know _why_  he listened, but he felt compelled to make sure Stiles _didn’t_  do anything stupid. For some reason, the conversation from the night before resonated with him, and he felt like Stiles really wasn’t happy with his life. Even if he didn’t elaborate, clearly he had a lot to be unhappy about.

Turning on his heel, Derek hurried out of the room, trying to backtrace where Stiles was from memory alone based on where he’d been spotted on the camera and what the house layout was like. He ended up catching up to Stiles a few doors away from Mieczyslaw’s room, and he looked both pissed and incredibly upset.

“You’re not fired, are you?” Derek asked, stopping in front of him and forcing Stiles to do the same.

“No, why would I be fired?” Stiles asked. He’d said it almost acidly, like he almost wished he _had_  been fired. Derek almost reminded him he could always quit, but he bit his tongue. For one thing, it wasn’t appropriate for Stiles’ mental state right then, and for another, he realized he’d actually miss him if he suddenly disappeared.

If nothing else, at least Stiles made his days of panicked searching for the Senator’s son entertaining.

Derek hesitated, Stiles avoiding looking at him and scowling angrily at the ground to their left, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Did you want to go somewhere after work?”

He didn’t know where the words came from, and a part of him worried he just felt sorry for Stiles, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how miserable Stiles had looked, sounded and smelled the night before when talking about how lonely he was.

And he also couldn’t stop thinking about how he found _Derek_  good company to cure that loneliness. Anyone who thought Derek was worthwhile was someone he should work to get to know.

Apparently his question had been unexpected, because Stiles’ head snapped in his direction, eyes wide and a grin trying to overtake his features. “For real?”

“Sure.” Derek grunted out with a shrug. “We can go bowling or something.”

Stiles snorted, and Derek was relieved to have his scent shifting from something unhappy and sour to his usual light and airy scent.

“Bowling? What is this, the fifties?”

“What’s wrong with bowling?” Derek frowned. “I happen to like bowling.”

“If you say so.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Sure. Bowling. Can we share a milkshake at the local diner, too?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Only if we get strawberry,” Derek deadpanned and Stiles laughed. It was a comforting sound to hear after how he’d been moments before.

“Sounds like a plan.” Stiles pulled his phone out, then scowled when he seemed to remember it was dead and asked, “What’s the time?”

Derek checked his watch, jacket shifting along his gun holstered on his hip at the action. “Just after ten.”

“I got somewhere to be.” He started past Derek, then hesitated. “Hey, the Senator’s son has class today. He might show up, if you wanted to tag along with me.”

“You guys are in the same class?” Derek asked, surprised.

“Something like that.” Stiles half-grinned. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten, okay?”

Derek agreed, then watched Stiles hurry away, a frown on his face. He didn’t really get Stiles, and most of the staff in this place were weird, but while he felt guilty for not once having met or protected the Senator’s son, he couldn’t help but feel like Cora was _kind of_ right. It was nice getting paid to do a job he wasn’t really doing, and while it didn’t sit well with him, he figured that if _he_  couldn’t find Mieczyslaw, then it was likely _nobody_  could.

So if he got to follow Stiles around for a while in hopes of _actually_  finding the kid, well, he could live with that.

* * *

Derek didn’t know how he’d gotten roped into this, and even now, on the scheduled day, he still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. He must’ve had a moment of insanity and woken up after he’d agreed to this. He couldn’t back out now, so he was stuck with honouring his agreement.

That was how he found himself driving to the theatre on his day off at two in the afternoon, completely baffled as to how he’d been convinced to do this.

He parked the Camaro relatively close to the front given the multitude of empty spots and climbed out. Flipping his keys in his hand, he headed for the entrance while checking the time and noted he was almost ten minutes early. He figured he could entertain himself for that long when someone appeared right beside him.

At first, he’d almost barked at the person to piss off, but when he turned to look at them, he found Stiles grinning up at him. Derek hadn’t immediately recognized him. He was wearing a red hoodie with the hood pulled up, along with a baseball cap and black-framed glasses.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Derek commented, reaching the entrance and pulling open the door. He held it for Stiles, then followed him in, unconsciously admiring his ass in the tight jeans he was wearing.

“I don’t,” Stiles replied happily, pulling them off and handing them to Derek. “They’re fake.”

Derek slipped them on, just because they’d been handed to him, and Stiles’ mouth dropped open. He cocked an eyebrow at him, finding the frames annoying and not knowing why anyone would ever wear them if they didn’t have to.

“Dude, you make a hot nerd,” Stiles informed him.

Derek rolled his eyes and pulled them off, handing them back over. Stiles grinned when he slipped them back on and gave Derek a once-over before scowling.

“Don’t you own anything other than a suit?”

“I like suits,” Derek insisted, pulling at the cuff of the jacket he wore. “It’s kind of a habit, anyway. I always have my gun on me when I go anywhere crowded.”

“Wait, you have it on you right now?” Stiles hissed, looking around. “Dude, you know we’re at the theatre, right? That’s not really appropriate.”

Derek rolled his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s in case I get called into work. I have my permit on me, and my work badge. And I need to file reports whenever I use it, same as cops do. It’s really more work than it’s worth to discharge it so trust me, I avoid doing it.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Stiles looked around, then slapped him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Hey, let’s play air hockey.”

“Shouldn’t we get the tickets?”

“Nah, I bought them already.”

Derek was somewhat startled at hearing that. He’d agreed to come, of course, but there was always the chance he might bail, so for Stiles to have gotten the tickets already showed how optimistic he was that Derek would show up. That, or he’d just been incredibly hopeful.

If there wasn’t a third person coming, Derek might have assumed this was supposed to be a date.

Stiles led the way to the air hockey table, Derek not having played in years. He picked up his paddle and grabbed the puck while Stiles stuck quarters into the machine. He’d just straightened when his phone went off. Holding up one finger for Derek to wait, he pulled it out and frowned at the message, then began texting furiously. He waited for a response, rolled his eyes, then looked at Derek.

“Come take a selfie with me.”

“What?”

Stiles motioned him over. “Lydia doesn’t believe I’m with you. Come take a selfie.”

Derek didn’t _want_  to know what kind of lies Stiles was telling the staff about them, but he figured he could straighten them all out when he worked next in two days. So he sighed like Stiles was a huge inconvenience and moved around the air hockey table, the other grinning happily at him.

He moved closer to Stiles, who pulled down his hood but didn’t remove his hat or glasses, and stared up into the phone. Stiles was still grinning but Derek just made sure to look bored, the picture snapping.

“Thanks.” Stiles pulled his phone closer and Derek saw him type, “seeeeeeeeeeeee????” as a caption on the photo before sending it. He stuffed his phone into his pocket before Derek could see any more of the conversation.

“Why are you texting Lydia and sending her selfies?” Derek asked.

“She worries.” Stiles shrugged. “My family worries.”

“They should worry more,” Derek said, remembering Stiles’ comment about being lonely.

The other made a face at him. “They worry plenty, thank you very much. So.” He picked up one of the paddles and grinned. “Ready to get owned?”

“By you?” Derek scoffed, moving back around the table. “I think not.”

Apparently, Derek thought wrong, because Stiles completely _destroyed_  him. He had amazingly quick reflexes for a human, and Derek was grudgingly impressed.

They were almost done the seventh game, tied three all, when Derek noticed someone moving in their direction, eyes locked on Stiles. Years of being a bodyguard allowed him to continue playing while also keeping an eye on the approaching party. He didn’t _look_  like a threat, but even from this distance Derek could smell he was a Werewolf, which was always something to be cautious of.

He straightened when the individual moved right into Stiles’ personal space and yelled, “Choke!”

Stiles let out a rather impressively high scream, whipping around just in time for Derek to score.

“Jackass!” Stiles snapped, punching at the other, who was laughing hysterically. “You made me lose!” he insisted, shaking out his obviously injured hand from punching a Werewolf.

“It’s good to bring you down a peg or two.” His friend—Derek assumed it was Scott, who they were meeting—wrapped an arm around Stiles and flicked the brim of his hat. “What’s with the getup? You only wear this when you sneak out of the house.”

Derek frowned at that, moving around the table so he was closer to the pair. He didn’t know why, but the easy familiarity and the way Scott was leaning against Stiles kind of bothered him.

Not to mention his words. Why was Stiles sneaking out? It made Derek feel like he’d been lying about his home life not being abusive. He was going to have to find out where he lived and check it out, and so help his family if Derek ever saw a bruise on Stiles’ skin.  
Realizing he was getting territorial—some wolf things were better than others—he just stood by the pair while they joked and laughed.

Eventually, Scott noticed Derek lingering. He must not have realized he was who Stiles was playing, because he gave him a clear, “Can we help you?” look while pulling Stiles more in his direction.

Derek had to resist the urge to reach out and snatch Stiles’ arm to wrench him back. Barely two weeks with him and he was already territorial. Great.

Stiles turned to see what Scott was looking at—and pulling him away from—and started at how close Derek was. “Oh, right. Scott, this is Derek.” He motioned him, then looked at Derek and motioned his friend. “Derek, Scott.”

“Hey,” Derek said.

“Hi...” Scott said uncertainly, giving Derek a once-over. “Um, so, how uh, how do you know each other?”

“Work,” Derek replied. Scott gave him a weird look, then glanced at Stiles then back at Derek, then finally at the obvious weapon hidden beneath his suit jacket on Derek’s hip. He instantly perked up, all suspicion gone.

“Oh!” He turned to Stiles. “Is he your new bodyguard?”

Derek saw Stiles stiffen at that, wondering why, but before Stiles could open his mouth to insist that, why yes, Derek _was_  his bodyguard like the brat he was, Derek spoke first.

“I’m Mieczyslaw Stilinski’s bodyguard.”

The confused look that crossed Scott’s face now was kind of annoying. Scott looked at Stiles, then back at Derek, and then at Stiles again.

“I see…?”

Before he could stay anything else, Stiles pointed across the area with a gasp. “Snacks! Mucho snacksos! Come on, Scott! Derek, find us seats!”

“You have the tickets,” Derek reminded him, but Stiles was already halfway across the lobby, moving impressively fast for a human. Derek wondered if he might not be a little bit more of _something else_ with how he was sometimes.

Not able to go inside, but also more than okay to leave some space between them given Scott was territorial and Derek was getting there, he leaned back against a far wall and watched the two of them.

It was loud in the theatre entrance, but he managed to hone in on the two in line, watching them. Stiles was texting on his phone, his friend leaning over him to see, suggesting he wasn’t so much texting as he was telling Scott something without the risk of Derek overhearing.

That kind of annoyed him, but given Stiles had confirmed his best friend was a Werewolf, he’d obviously gotten lots of practice at being sneaky like this.

Not to mention he _worked_  with a bunch of Werewolves. Must’ve been hard being the Token Human.

Scott suddenly let out an incredulous splutter. “Are you _serious_?!”

Stiles turned to grin at him, Derek squashing the annoyance at that grin being directed at someone _other_  than him, and went back to typing on his phone, Scott leaning over him to see. He let out a scoff, shaking his head.

“Dude, he is the _worst_  bodyguard ever!”

Derek scowled at that, _knowing_  they were talking about him. His mother always said eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves. Looked like she was right.

Stiles was still typing furiously and after a moment Scott snatched the phone from his hand and began typing as well, the two moving up a spot in line. Stiles made an offended sound at whatever Scott had typed and stole his phone back, twisting away so he could type while Scott tried to steal the phone. Stiles didn’t turn it to face him until he was done and Scott scowled.

“Stop being stubborn, he wouldn’t, and you’re an idiot. A reckless idiot. Does Lydia know about this?”

“Yes?”

“That means no,” Scott said dryly, their conversation on pause when they reached the counter.

Stiles ordered a large popcorn, a Coke, and bought a bag of sour patch kids. He exclaimed loudly that he’d forgotten to ask Derek what he wanted, but thankfully Scott turned to ask him across the area before Stiles fucking _screamed_  it at him. Thank God for Scott.

Derek advised he didn’t want anything, but Stiles bought him a small popcorn and a Coke anyway while Scott got nachos, a hotdog and some sprite.

When they wandered back over, Derek rolled his eyes at the way Stiles was trying to balance everything and grabbed his own items, muttering a thanks. He hadn’t necessarily been hungry, but it was nice of Stiles to buy him something, and he actually kind of liked that he’d paid for it while barking at Scott to pay for his own shit.

It made Derek feel more important somehow, and he already knew based on the sour look on Scott’s face that the two of them would have a problem because they were both extremely territorial of Stiles.

Ridiculous, in Derek’s opinion, for him to be territorial of someone he’d barely known for two weeks, but there was just something about Stiles that drew him in, despite his best efforts. Even if he _wanted_  to resist the pull—which he didn’t—he wasn’t sure that he _could_.

They headed for the rooms then, passing the ticket kiosk and Stiles handing them all over. While they walked towards the applicable screening they would be in, Stiles turned to Derek, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Hey Derek,” he said, chewing somewhat and shoving most of the partially masticated food into one cheek. “Question for you. Curiosity based.”

Derek arched an eyebrow at him to show Stiles had his attention and the other pointed at him.

“If someone showed up randomly, and was gunning for me or something, would you protect me?”

It wasn’t what Derek had expected to hear, but the answer was easy. Regardless of whether or not he liked Stiles, regardless of who he was with in general, whether friend or foe, the answer was the same.

“Probably. I’ve been a bodyguard for years, so it’s kind of instinct, at this point.”

“Instinct, Scotty,” Stiles said, turning to grin at his friend while they walked into their showing. “ _Instinct_.”

“Whatever.” Scott rolled his eyes, climbing the steps and checking his ticket for the assigned seat. “Get shot, for all I care.”

“Hey! You would care!” Stiles insisted, following his friend down an aisle and falling into his seat. “Besides, Derek _just_  said he’d protect me!”

“He said he’d _probably_  protect you.” Scott scowled. “I don’t think your dad would be happy about this.”

“My dad is too busy to notice when I’m not home,” Stiles said bitterly, anger and a hint of sadness wafting off him. He put his drink in the cupholder and slouched in his seat, glaring at the screen and stuffing popcorn into his mouth.

Derek took the seat on Stiles’ other side, the three of them silent for a long while. Other people had started filing into the room and after a moment, Scott informed them he needed to take a leak and headed out of the theatre.

“I’m not a bad bodyguard,” Derek muttered.

“What?” Stiles asked, having been distracted by the pre-show on the screen. He turned to give Derek a look, then scoffed. “Of course you’re not, what makes you think you are?”

“Your friend said I was.”

Stiles snorted and tossed some popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “The thing about Scott is he doesn’t know you like I do, and he doesn’t get what it’s like in the Senator’s house.” Stiles pushed the brim of his hat up a bit more, and Derek wondered if he’d wear it throughout the whole movie.

“His son won’t even give me a chance,” Derek muttered, slouching in his seat as well so he and Stiles were practically at the same level. “I wouldn’t suffocate him. I’d just like to know when he leaves and make sure he’s safe.”

Stiles said nothing to this, continuing to toss popcorn into the air. Some of it bounced off his nose, his fake glasses, his cheek, but he didn’t let that deter him and just continued tossing them into the air. He didn’t say anything to Derek about his comment, not that he’d expected him to, but he hated that Mieczyslaw hadn’t even given him a _chance_.

“You’ve met him, right?”

Stiles missed his next toss and turned to look at Derek, the piece of popcorn rolling away beneath the seats in front of them.

“Why does it matter?” Stiles asked, not quite an answer.

“Why does he hate me?”

“Hate you?” Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “Why do you think that? Nobody hates you.”

“How could you possibly know that? Have you spoken about me?” Derek asked. He kind of liked the thought of Stiles talking about him with other people.

“Nobody hates you,” Stiles repeated in answer, then returned to tossing popcorn in the air.

Derek faced the screen again, digging into his own popcorn, but it tasted like ash in his mouth the more he thought about his job. He shifted his gaze down into the buttery goodness, tilting the bag from side to side so that the top layer rolled back and forth.

“I don’t get the Senator,” he admitted quietly.

“And why is that?” Stiles asked, leaning closer to Derek to catch some popcorn before leaning away again.

“I came clean to him about his son,” Derek said quietly. He noticed Stiles stop what he was doing to stare at him but didn’t look up. “How I haven’t been protecting him. Hell, how I haven’t even _met_  him.”

Stiles made a weird choking sound, but Derek distinctly noticed that he hadn’t tossed any popcorn in the air, so he wasn’t _actually_  choking. He just coughed and pounded on his chest with one fist, avoiding looking at Derek.

“What?” Derek asked, irritated.

“Nothing. Nothing.” Stiles coughed and cleared his throat, licking his lips and keeping his eyes on the screen. “What, uh, what did the Senator say?”

Derek scoffed, following Stiles’ gaze. “He thought I was joking,” Derek said, recalling the conversation fairly clearly, given it had been the night before. The man had just laughed at his admission—even though it had taken Derek _hours_  to work up the nerve to admit the truth—and had insisted he was hilarious while patting him on the shoulder. “He said my sense of humour is probably why his son likes me so much.” Which was a ridiculous thing for the Senator to say, considering every word out of Mieczyslaw’s mouth was a lie since he didn’t know Derek at _all_.

“Among other things,” Stiles said quietly under his breath, but Derek was a Werewolf and he whipped his head in Stiles’ direction, the other freezing at the realization.

“What does that mean?” Derek demanded.

“It means shut up, the movie’s starting,” Stiles muttered, shoving one hand into Derek’s face and forcing him to turn away. Derek complied, if only to get his face back since Stiles was smooshing his nose rather painfully.

Scott appeared a few moments later, scowling before falling into his seat. “You guys done flirting now?”

“Wha—flir—we were—what?” Stiles sputtered, seeming to try one train of thought before jumping track to a new one. “We were _not_  flirting!”

“Tell that to my ears. And my nose. And my common sense.” Scott gave Stiles a look.

Stiles slouched further in his seat, cheeks a little pink and pulling the brim of his hat down further.

“I hate Werewolves.”

“Shut up and watch the screen,” Scott insisted, even though it was still on the pre-show.

Derek cast a glance at Stiles, wondering if that _was_  what they were doing. Bantering and flirting. He _liked_  Stiles. A lot. He didn’t think he would, especially after that first day, but he felt like something had shifted in their relationship the night Stiles had come over because he was lonely. Derek knew he had a bit of a prickly personality, for the most part, and Werewolves were still widely discriminated against, some places even hunting them for sport. But Stiles didn’t care about that, actively followed Derek around, and even went out of his way to invite him out to a movie today despite Derek’s insistence he wasn’t interested in going.

He was interested, though. In the movie, in hanging out, in _Stiles_. He just wasn’t used to this kind of thing. People didn’t usually _like_  him. They saw his pretty face and swooned, but ran the other way the second he opened his mouth.

For fuck’s sake, Derek’s first conversation with Stiles had ended with him telling him to get lost!

When the movie started and the lights began to dim, Derek cast a glance at Stiles, smiling slightly at how excited he looked. When the other began leaning into him a bit more during the movie, whispering loudly at him about what was happening on the screen, Derek found he really didn’t mind.

And he also realized he’d unconsciously put one hand on Stiles’ knee at some point, and the other had made no move to shake it off.

Derek watched the movie with a small smile teasing the corners of his lips.

* * *

Derek tried twice more in the following weeks to speak to the Senator about not having met or protected Mieczyslaw once, but every time he did, the Senator just laughed or rolled his eyes and told him he was hilarious before patting his shoulder and continuing on his way. Derek was legitimately _terrified_  he was going to get his son killed.

The only things holding him together at this point were Boyd and Stiles. Boyd always told Derek when Mieczyslaw was _in_  or _out_  of the house, and whenever he was _out_  of the house, it was to head to class, all of which he shared with Stiles. He never found the elusive Senator’s son in the courses, and kind of wondered if that wasn’t Stiles’ job. Namely, to take notes for the lazy asshole who couldn’t be bothered to attend class.

Stiles always wore a hoodie out with the hood up. Occasionally he wore the fake glasses, but not always, and he seemed to alternate with the baseball cap, wearing it one week and then not wearing it the next. Derek assumed it depended on his mood or something.

Whenever they were in class, Derek swept the room for the Senator’s son along with any potential threats. Whenever they were in the house, he and Stiles wandered around aimlessly and talked about various topics. They were general topics, at first, like books and movies and books turned _into_  movies, but eventually they branched out into more personal topics. What Derek went to school for, what his family was like, what Stiles’ plans were for after university. He found out that Stiles _loved_  curly fries but _hated_  potatoes—which was hilarious, and also weird because, who the fuck hated _potatoes_?—and that he was a Coke lover and despised Pepsi because, “Yes there _is_  a difference, Derek, have you ever _had_  Coke?!”

They also spoke briefly about Stiles’ family, and Derek found out his mother had died of cancer when he was younger. A Druid had wanted to save her, but the Supernatural restrictions were so strict back then that she’d ended up passing away before the Druid was granted authority to attempt to save her. Derek knew it was a common occurrence, having happened at least five or six times in his hometown, and also knowing the Senator had lost his wife in the exact same way years prior. It was what had led him to run and push for more freedom and equality. It was an uphill battle, same as it still was for racism and the LGTBQ community, but Senator Stilinski persevered and slowly but surely, he was making a change.

Derek was proud to work for him, even if he wished the little shit he was meant to be protecting would show his face every now and then. He idly wondered if he would spend his entire career “protecting” Mieczyslaw and never having actually met him.

Well, at least he had Stiles.

Stiles, who he was slowly but surely becoming more and more interested in. He was actually always a little disappointed when Stiles disappeared a few minutes before his shift with a salute and comment before running off. He wondered where he always went when he ran off like that, but had never gotten around to asking.

“Ugh,” Stiles said loudly, wandering behind Derek while they walked down the corridor, leaning all of his weight into the older man with his face buried in the back of his suit jacket. Derek was pretty sure he was going to have a drool stain there later. “I don’t wanna go,” Stiles whined.

“Then don’t go,” Derek said.

“I have to, the Senator is _making me_ ,” he whined again.

Derek just chuckled and slowly turned another corner, being sure to give Stiles plenty of silent warning so he didn’t faceplant. The other shifted around accordingly, keeping his face buried in the back of Derek’s jacket.

“Why do you have to go?”

“Because,” Stiles whined pathetically and Derek chuckled.

Apparently there was some kind of gala or event coming up at the end of the month at one of the local art galleries. A lot of influential people had been invited, and when the Senator had received an invitation, he’d happily agreed to attend. Derek knew he’d have to go, since apparently Mieczyslaw was also slated to attend, but he wasn’t exactly keen on it. Working in a location like that wouldn’t be fun, and he’d probably let his incompetence show by not even knowing which person was Mieczyslaw.

Stiles sighed heavily, Derek rolling his shoulders slightly and smirking to himself at the annoyed sound Stiles made.

“What are you doing tonight?” Stiles asked into his jacket, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Nothing. Was going to watch some TV, maybe order takeout.”

“I want to watch TV and order takeout,” Stiles muttered.

Derek hesitated for a moment. He and Stiles hung out outside of work, of course, but usually they went to movies or for coffee or out and about in the open. They didn’t go to either of their houses, and barring that one unexpected visit from Stiles just under a month ago, Stiles had never come over again.

But they were closer, now. Hell, they were _friends_  now. And maybe leaning towards a bit more, though Derek was trying hard not to be _too_  optimistic.

“Did you want to maybe come over?” he asked cautiously, keeping his tone light. “I have a spare bedroom. You could come over, crash at mine, and we can head back to work together in the morning.”

When Stiles jerked away from him, Derek thought he’d fucked up, but before he could even turn around to see the expression on his face, Stiles had zoomed in front of him, stopping right in front of Derek so that he almost walked right into him, grin so huge Derek didn’t know how it didn’t break his face.

“Really? You want me to come over? For TV and takeout?”

“Sure.” Derek tried to shrug it off like he didn’t care either way, and was really glad Stiles wasn’t a Werewolf or he would be able to smell his nerves and embarrassment. Didn’t need to be a Werewolf to see the flush creeping up the back of his neck, though, so he just hoped Stiles didn’t notice.

“Awesome!” Stiles fist-pumped, still grinning, but Derek could smell how happy and excited he was. Clearly he was pleased their friendship had migrated to hangouts at home. Derek doubted he’d hang out at Stiles’ place given his family situation, but that was okay. Derek lived alone, he didn’t mind if they hung out mostly at his place.

Stiles was still grinning when his gaze shifted to something behind Derek. When Derek turned to look behind him, he saw two of the night-duty guards wandering towards the security room holding coffees and chatting. One of them was Isaac, and the other was an older woman that Derek often saw manning the cameras when Boyd left.

When he turned back to Stiles, he saw him pulling his phone out of his pocket without a word, checking the time.“Cool. Right, so, I gotta jet. Changing of the guard.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and started walking backwards, aiming both pointer fingers at Derek. “Meet you out front in ten?”

He always said the same thing at the end of Derek’s shift. ‘Gotta jet. Changing of the guard.’ Normally Derek let it go, but this time he asked,

“Why do you always say that?”

Stiles stopped in his retreat, frowning. “Say what?”

“Changing of the guard,” Derek echoed.

“Oh,” Stiles said, startled, “because it’s _literally_  the changing of the guard.” He motioned behind Derek again, though the other men had long since passed them by. “Boyd’s off, you’re off, Isaac’s on, Parrish’s on.”

“And you run away and hide because…?” Derek trailed off, eyebrows raised.

Stiles winced and rubbed the back of his head with a sigh. “Parrish and I don’t get along. It’s best we stay out of each other’s way as much as possible.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, but he could see that it bothered him a bit that he and this Parrish person butted heads. Derek knew Jordan Parrish by name only. He saw him around every now and then, but they hadn’t ever really had the chance to _talk_  more than to say good morning and good evening.

Derek figured it was just as well Parrish and Stiles didn’t get along, he liked hogging all of his time. Which was territorial of him, and he knew it, but it was getting harder and harder to reign himself in.

“Meet you out front?” Stiles repeated, phone out again, clearly concerned with the time.

“Sure.”

Stiles grinned, waved once, then turned and bolted down the corridor like he was being pursued. Derek just shrugged and turned to head for the security room to say bye to Boyd. He’d gotten into the habit of doing so before leaving the past few weeks, and he figured Stiles had a reason for running off. As long as Derek was at the front in ten minutes, it would be fine. It wasn’t like Boyd was a talker, it wouldn’t take him ten minutes to say bye, and they often even walked out together, so it wasn’t a big deal.

When he neared the door, he started to reach for the knob when he heard a voice inside. He recognized it as Parrish’s, and was about to step inside so they could officially meet when he froze as the words he heard.

“—swear to God, I _hate_  that little shit! Why does he want me to suffer?! We got along so well when he was little and I was babysitting him, what _happened_?!”

Derek figured Parrish was talking about Mieczyslaw. He’d heard rumours that Parrish used to work for the Senator in a different capacity in the past—as a deputy to Senator Stilinski’s sheriff position—but he hadn’t realized that Mieczyslaw ran off on him, as well.

Parrish likely hadn’t been fired because of the relationship he had with the Senator, but it made Derek feel a little better to know he wasn’t the _only_  one who couldn’t keep track of him.

“You’ve got a pretty tight leash on him,” Boyd’s low baritone said. He knew Derek was there, it was impossible for him to be a Werewolf and _not_  know, but he said nothing about it, allowing Derek to eavesdrop. Parrish was _something_ , Derek knew, but he wasn’t a Were.

“When I can even _find_  him,” Parrish muttered angrily. “And what’s _with_  the new guy?!”

Hackles rising instantly, Derek almost threw open the door to demand to know what _that_  meant, but Parrish continued before he could do so.

“How does _he_  not get run off on?! All I hear Noah talk about is how his son is waxing poetic about Derek and how he’s the best bodyguard and blah, blah, blah.”

Mieczyslaw was waxing poetic about him? That was news to Derek. He was really playing up the whole ‘yes, dad, I’m friends with my bodyguard, we hang out all the time and I’ve _definitely_  met him’ thing.

“I mean, I get it, he’s hot, so that helps,” Parrish muttered, and Derek preened a little at the compliment, mood souring instantly at his next words, “but like, are they _fucking_  or something?!”

Seriously, his mother had warned him. She’d warned him eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves.

He only let Parrish get one more sentence out before he’d had enough and pushed the door open angrily.

“There’s _no_  way Derek is managing to keep him in one place if they’re _not_  fucking. Not when Sti—”

Parrish cut off mid-word at the sight of Derek. He didn’t look embarrassed, just annoyed, but not _nearly_  as annoyed as Derek. And Parrish also looked annoyed at _Mieczyslaw_  as opposed to Derek’s presence.

Derek was one-hundred percent annoyed with Parrish.

“Parrish, Derek,” Boyd said, motioning each in turn. “Derek, Parrish. I’m leaving.” He stood and grabbed his bag, patting Derek’s shoulder on his way by. “See you in the morning.”

Once the door closed behind Boyd, Derek crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Parrish, whose expression had smoothed out now that he was calming down.

“I’m not fucking him,” he informed coldly.

Parrish looked taken aback and let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I wasn’t serious, Derek. It was just a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny,” he snapped. The last thing he needed was for people to think he and the Senator’s son were involved. That would get him fired faster than his inability to _find_  him.

“Sorry,” Parrish said, taken aback. “It was just a—”

“Joke. You said.” Derek checked the time on his watch. “I’m late,” he said in way of farewell and turned to exit the room. He fumed almost the entire way to the front of the house, bidding the various staff members goodnight as he passed them and finally exiting the house. He went to collect his car from the small lot all employees parked their vehicles in and then drove it up to the house, stopping just outside the doors.

He was worried the Senator might come out while he was there, but he figured if he saw the Senator’s car pull up, he would just move and wait for him to leave before returning for Stiles.

He’d been waiting for almost four minutes when the door opened and Stiles bolted out of the house, duffel bag in hand and taking the stairs three at a time. He slammed hard into the side of Derek’s car, wincing and struggling to get the passenger door open.

Parrish appeared at the door, looking winded and annoyed.

“Stiles! Get your ass back in here!” he started making his way down the stairs as Stiles finally got the door open. He dropped his duffel at his feet, slammed the door, and hastily grabbed at his seatbelt.

“Go, go, go!”

Derek didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t know _why_  Parrish was chasing Stiles instead of doing his job, but he just peeled out of there, burning rubber, and smiled at the jovial laugh that escaped Stiles, the other finally getting his seatbelt buckled.

He turned in his seat to look out the back window for a few blocks, then seemed satisfied they weren’t being followed, facing forward again.

Derek was about to ask what that was all about when Stiles’ phone rang. The other reached into his pocket for it, but made a face at the name he found flashing on the screen. Derek didn’t catch it, since he was driving, but he knew who it was the moment Stiles answered.

“Lydia! Hey! How’re you? How’s work? How’s the Senator?”

Derek politely tuned out, seeing Stiles cast him an uncomfortable look. He glanced at him, then motioned his ears, silently telling him he wasn’t listening in. Stiles smiled gratefully before turning to the passenger window, angled away from Derek.

“I’m with Derek,” he insisted. “No, I’m not ly—why do you always think I’m lying when I say that?” Pause. “I do not!” Pause. “That’s—you are spreading lies!” Pause. “I’m not! Derek!” Stiles turned to him and practically thrust his phone in his face, making him jerk his head back and almost miss a stop sign. “Speak!”

“I’m not a dog,” Derek informed him dryly.

Stiles seemed satisfied with that and pulled the phone back. “See? Not lying! I’m with Derek!” Pause. “Wha-what? No, I’m not—that’s so—that is _none_  of your business!” Stiles sputtered, embarrassment rolling off him. Derek saw a flush creeping up the back of his neck and figured Lydia had said something inappropriate about Stiles’ word choice.

“Yeah, well, Parrish can suck my dick,” Stiles muttered. When the embarrassment mounted in the car and Stiles let out a squawk, Derek _wished_  he’d been listening in. “No Derek isn’t sucking my dick right now! Lydia, no! _No_! Oh my Go—Parrish used to change my _diapers_ , Lydia, do _not_  tell him to suck my dick! No one is sucking my dick! I’m hanging up now. Bye. _Bye_!”

Stiles hastily hung up and turned to glare at Derek, who was chuckling in his seat while easing to a stop at a red light.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Chuckles,” Stiles muttered. Derek saw his face burning, embarrassment heavy in the car, but he just reached out and, without really meaning to, ran one hand along Stiles’ cheek and down the side of his neck.

He froze when he realized what he’d just done. Namely: he’d just _scented_  Stiles.

When he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, Stiles was just beaming at him. Either he didn’t mind the scenting, or he didn’t realize what Derek had just done. Either way, it helped Derek relax some and they continued driving in silence.

He thought about the conversation he’d overheard—well, the one side, anyway—and wondered if Stiles and Mieczyslaw had grown up together. Or at least in the same area. Parrish had talked about babysitting Mieczyslaw, and Stiles mentioned Parrish changing his diapers. They must’ve known one another from before the Senator because a Senator.

The more he thought about Parrish, the more annoyed he got and he scowled angrily out the windshield, Stiles reaching forward to poke at his creased brow.

“What’s got your tail in a knot, sourwolf?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t like him,” Derek muttered, feeling childish just _thinking_  it.

“Him who?” Stiles frowned.

“Parrish.”

Instantly, Stiles turned fully towards him, seatbelt straining and eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. “What? _Why_?!”

Derek turned to him briefly, surprised, then faced the road again. “Why do you sound so surprised? I thought you didn’t like him, either.”

“No, I never said that,” Stiles insisted. “I said we don’t get along. Parrish is great.”

Derek disagreed, but he now felt uncomfortable talking about it since Stiles apparently _didn’t_  hate him. He tried to change the subject, but Stiles prodded and bugged him until he finally sighed explosively and admitted,

“He said the only reason I’m doing well with the Senator is because I’m sleeping with his son. A truly remarkable feat given I’ve never _met_  him.”

He expected Stiles to laugh, but instead, the other just went silent, looking thoughtful. When Derek cocked an eyebrow at him, Stiles narrowed his eyes, still thinking, and took a few minutes before finally speaking.

“Do you _want_  to be sleeping with his son?” he asked slowly. “‘Cause you know, that can be arranged.”

Derek turned to give him an annoyed look, Stiles smirking and waggling his eyebrows. “Stop being an idiot,” he insisted. He almost added, “The only person I want to sleep with is you,” but managed to refrain himself.

“Just sayin’,” Stiles insisted.

“Shut up and order Chinese,” Derek insisted, turning a corner and merging into traffic.

“Well which is it? Shut up or order Chinese?”

“I will rip your throat out with my teeth,” Derek deadpanned, turning to give Stiles a look.

“Kinky. I’d be willing to try that,” Stiles said, waggling his eyebrows again.

Derek was _positive_  Stiles was trying to kill him.

It was working.

* * *

He didn’t have any proof to his theory, but Derek was _fairly certain_ that Parrish hated him. He didn’t know _why_  Parrish hated, aside from maybe the other being in love with Mieczyslaw and thinking Derek was boning him, but he was pretty sure Parrish wasn’t a fan.

Considering Derek was _not_  protecting the Senator’s son, and this could be proven by looking at the cameras for all of _ten_  seconds, he couldn’t think of any other reason for Parrish not liking him.

Not that he cared, he didn’t much like Parrish, either. Ever since his introduction to him had been the other man saying he was fucking the Senator’s son, Derek had done his best to avoid him. He felt like he almost did a better job of it than Stiles did.

Because most of the time when Stiles raced out of the Senator’s house with a duffel, Parrish was hot on his heels, yelling after him to come back and not be an asshole. Stiles just cackled and leapt into Derek’s waiting car, clearly pleased with himself.

Stiles tended to come over more often than not, and Derek definitely didn’t mind. He didn’t like the occasional scent of lemon cleaner he found lingering on Stiles’ clothes, but with how often Derek went into Mieczyslaw’s room just to see if his dead body was lying under a pile of clothes somewhere, even _he_  was starting to smell like the cleaner.

And honestly, Stiles _may_  have been starting to smell like something _other_  than the cleaner.

Namely Derek. Stiles was starting to smell like Derek. He slept in his spare room, hung out on his couch, wore Derek’s clothes sometimes when he came over unexpectedly and didn’t have time to grab anything before the changing of the guard.

And the scenting, of course. Lots of scenting.

Derek wasn’t even conscious he was doing it!

They would be walking down the corridor at work, wandering aimlessly through the mansion, and Derek would reach out and grab the back of Stiles’ neck when they passed other people, squeezing slightly. Their hands would brush every now and then. Derek would reach out when Stiles got really passionate about something and rub his palm across Stiles’ cheek.

It was worse when they were at Derek’s place. He would place his hand against Stiles’ lower back, or drag his hand down the front or back of Stiles’ neck, or along the length of his arms to his wrists, or sometimes he would grip Stiles’ ankles when the other threw his feet into Derek’s lap.

It was getting out of hand. Derek had to stop, Stiles didn’t _belong_  to him, but the longer they spent together, the more he _wanted_  him to. It felt weird, it had been just under a month and a half, but he felt like he knew Stiles better than his own family. He attributed that to how often Stiles spoke, but realistically, he spent almost ten hours a day with him at work, and then an additional however many hours they hung out awake at Derek’s house together.

Fuck, they were practically _dating_ , and Derek was _more_  than okay with that, even if he didn’t say so aloud to Stiles. Somehow, he worried admitting it would make things weird. Which was a stupid thing to think, and he knew it, because Stiles was _clearly_  into him. Derek didn’t think he’d been interested from the beginning, but slowly he’d started noticing a shift in Stiles’ scent when they were just a _little_  too close to one another. Slowly but surely, they were moving out of the “friends” stage and into the “something more” stage.

Derek worried about that, only because he didn’t know how much longer he’d be employed in the Stilinski household. Every now and then, he and the Senator spoke, and every time the man brought up what an amazing job he was doing, Derek tried _again_  to tell him he’d never met his son, but the Senator just brushed it off, thought Derek was being modest for managing to pin his son down, and then wandered away with Lydia, who was rolling her eyes behind the man’s back.

It was fairly obvious the eye roll was for Derek and _not_  the Senator. Clearly she didn’t think Derek was very bright, which he found insulting. He was plenty bright, thank you. Maybe not as smart as Stiles, but still up there!

Above Parrish, at any rate.

“Hey Derek?” Stiles asked.

“Mm?” he returned, eyes on the movie playing. He wasn’t actually sure what it was, since they’d turned it on halfway through, but it was interesting as far as he’d seen. He was sitting on the couch with Stiles’ feet in his lap, and somehow he’d ended up massaging them, digging his thumbs into the arch and enjoying the sounds escaping Stiles.

The other had been shifting uncomfortably on the couch for the past hour, and Derek could smell how nervous he was every time he inhaled. Derek tried to act nonchalant about the question he knew was coming in an attempt to help Stiles relax, but anything making him _this_  nervous was bound to have Derek’s heart beating out of his chest.

“Um, so you know how the gala event thing at the art gallery is this weekend?” Stiles asked, looking anywhere but at Derek. He needn’t have bothered, since Derek’s eyes were locked on the TV screen.

“I do, I’m working it,” Derek said.

“Um, actually, I kind of—I asked if you could have the night off.”

Derek broke his own promise and turned to Stiles, eyebrows shooting up. “What?”

“Yeah, I just—I mean, if you want to work it, that’s fine and all, but I asked if you could have the night off.”

“And they approved it?” Derek asked, surprised.

“I’m very persuasive,” Stiles said, catching his eye for half a second so he could smirk, then averting his gaze again. “I was kind, uh, I was kind of hoping you would go to the gala. You know. With me.”

Derek’s hands stopped what they were doing, staring at Stiles. He could hear his heart racing in his chest, smell the sweat and anxiety rolling off him, and see how fucking _nervous_  he was that Derek was going to say no.

It was insane to think that Stiles didn’t see his own worth, and Derek just waited for him to finally look over before he smiled and said,

“I think I’d really like that.”

Stiles’ smile wasn’t as huge as usual, but Derek attributed that to nerves, red creeping up Stiles’ throat and making the Werewolf want to fucking suck and lick and bite it.

“Cool. That’s—yeah, awesome. Cool. Okay.”

When Stiles looked away, still smiling, Derek realized the look on his face meant he was celebrating in his head, throwing a party with balloon, confetti, maybe a clown, the whole works. It was kind of adorable, and Derek kind of really liked him.

Pushing at Stiles’ feet, the other turned to frown at him in confusion, but Derek just kept pushing until Stiles shifted so he was sitting properly on the couch, feet on the floor, still staring in confusion. Derek shifted closer, moving one cushion over, and he heard Stiles’ heart start beating even faster, if that were even possible. Derek stared down at him, at Stiles’ wide brown eyes, full, slightly parted lips and flushed cheeks.

God he was fucking beautiful.

Reaching out one hand, he dragged his palm across Stiles’ cheek and then started to lean down when a phone rang loudly in the room.

He half-expected Stiles to ignore it, the angry exhale suggesting he might, but after a second Derek felt his jaw clench beneath his hand and Stiles pulled away, arching his hips to pull his phone out and swiping the bottom.

“You really know how to ruin my life, Lydia.”

_“Stiles! Where are you?!”_

Derek frowned at the urgency in her voice and even Stiles straightened, frowning.

“I’m with Derek at his place. Why? What happened?”

_“You need to come back to the house right now! There was an attempt on the Senator’s life!”_

Stiles’ heart did something weird in his chest at those words. Derek felt his own jerk into his throat. Someone had tried to kill the Senator?!

“I’m on my way.” Stiles hung up and stood, looking around and seeming disoriented, unable to figure out where he was going or what he was doing.

Derek figured hearing their employer almost get shot was messing with him, because even _he_  was out of sorts, but Stiles was _really_  freaking out. His hands were shaking, his eyes were wide and panicked and he seemed to not know what he was meant to be doing.

“Hey,” Derek grabbed his shoulders, bending down slightly to catch Stiles’ eye since the other was staring at the floor. “He’s okay. Don’t worry, the Senator’s fine.” Derek tried for a smile and joked, “You’ll still be employed in the morning, I promise.”

Stiles let out a loud, startling laugh, then seemed to realize the noise had come from him, and he turned to find his shoes.

Derek was planning on driving him either way, but Stiles was acting incredibly weird. It made Derek extremely concerned, and he wondered—not for the first time—if he was missing something. Every now and then he had a thought, about Stiles, about the Senator, about this whole thing in general, but usually before he could grasp the thought and give it shape, it flitted away without warning.

Stiles finally managed to get his shoes on, grabbing his duffel and suggesting he was going to head home after being at the house. Derek didn’t say anything and led the way out. Stiles stuck close to him, glancing around worriedly the entire way to the Camaro. While odd behaviour for him, Derek figured it was best to just leave it alone, so he wrapped one arm around Stiles’ shoulders and quickened their pace.

“Do you have your gun on you?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek frowned down at him, confused. “Not right now, why?”

He felt Stiles hunch more into him, but he said nothing.

They made it to the car faster than usual and Derek let Stiles in first, then hurried around the car and climbed in. They said nothing during the drive back to the house, but Derek kept casting him worried glances. Stiles was staring down at his hands, curling them into fists and then loosening them, over and over.

“Stiles, are you okay?” he finally asked when they were only a few minutes out.

“I just need to get home,” he whispered.

“Okay. Did you want me to wait for you? How long will you be with Lydia?”

Stiles said nothing for a long while, then said, “Derek?”

“Yeah?”

Silence followed this, Stiles evidently changing his mind, and Derek thought it best not to push.

They made it back to the Senator’s house relatively quickly, and Parrish was waiting at the door, scowling at their approach, but also relieved.

“Do you want me to wait?” Derek asked again when he stopped the car.

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” Stiles opened the door, but turned back to Derek before stepping out. “Sorry about tonight.”

“Stiles, it’s fine.” Derek tried for a smile, seriously concerned about him, but not knowing what to say. “I have the next two days off, so let me know if you want to come by. Otherwise, I’ll see you on Friday for the gala, okay?”

Stiles nodded, gaze elsewhere, and then stepped out of the car with his duffel. He slammed the door, Parrish already right beside him. He placed one hand in the middle of Stiles’ shoulder blades and hurried him to the house, looking around alertly.

Derek had to wonder what was going on, and why people were acting so weird around Stiles. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was someone important, but Derek had been in that house for almost a month and a half. If Stiles was someone important, he definitely would’ve heard about it by now.

Sighing and shifting the car back into drive, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the interruption. He’d actually almost kissed Stiles, and he was really frustrated that he hadn’t managed to.

Sure, the Senator had had an attempt on his life, and while that was awful and Derek didn’t _want_  to see him hurt, he also felt like two of the Senator’s employees shouldn’t have been too affected by the attempt. Then again, Derek didn’t know how long Stiles had been working for him. Maybe he was like Lydia. She’d sounded extremely distressed on the phone, so maybe it was just a group of them who were so close to the Senator that any attempt on his life could destroy them.

Derek knew why it had happened, too. There was a new bill about to pass, and all of the votes had already gone in. Senator Stilinski was the swing vote, and everyone already knew he was going to oppose the bill. It allowed Hunters free reign on Supernatural creatures, essentially giving them a license to kill if a Werewolf so much as _looked_  at them funny.

The fact that half the senate had voted to pass the bill just showed how far they still had left to go before equality was even _considered_. Thank God the other half was voting against it, and of course, Senator Stilinski.

He felt like he should _really_  be working extra hard to find Mieczyslaw, because he didn’t want to see him hurt. Senator Stilinski’s vote was due in on Monday, so at least until then, he wanted to make sure when he was on shift that he was doing his best.

He texted Boyd when he got home, asking him to please help him ensure Mieczyslaw was safe for the rest of the weekend when he got back to work. Boyd just replied that Derek had nothing to worry about, which wasn’t helpful in the slightest.

After that, he texted Stiles, mostly just to say he hoped he was okay and wishing him a good night.

Derek had gotten himself organized for bed and crawled beneath the covers before Stiles texted back a simple “good night.”

It wasn’t as energetic as usual, but it was there.

Derek just hoped he was okay.

* * *

Stiles didn’t come around during his days off, and he didn’t text as much as Derek would’ve liked. He didn’t push, but it was obvious there was something wrong and he just hoped Stiles was okay.

The police ended up catching the party of people who’d made the attempt on the Senator’s life—a group of Hunters, unsurprisingly—so Derek felt a little calmer about the gala when he left the house on Friday evening.

Well, calmer in the “no one will try anything tonight” way since he was kind of panicked in the “holy shit I’m kind of going on a date with Stiles” way. It wasn’t that he thought it would go badly or anything. To be honest, he thought it was going to go really well, but it was a little weird to go on a date with a work friend _to_  a work thing.

Either way, he texted Stiles around five to say he’d pick him up in half an hour. He got a response back saying to just meet him at the event at seven, since the first hour was just speeches and donation requests, which was true, so he agreed.

If the Senator was going to be speaking, that would be a different story, and he wouldn’t miss that for anything, but it was just an art event so Stiles was right about the donations.

Derek lounged around for almost two hours before finally getting his things together to leave. He almost wanted to leave his gun, just because this was an actual _date_ , but he was going to be where the Senator and his son were and, off duty or not, he wanted to be able to jump into action, if required.

So he strapped it to his hip like he always did and headed out. The traffic was relatively mild for a Friday night, but still bad enough that he made it there around ten after seven. His car was taken away by a valet to be parked, and when Derek climbed the stairs leading to the doors, he realized he didn’t have an invitation.

He texted Stiles to say he was outside and lingered for a good five minutes before Stiles told him his name was on the list. Derek didn’t really believe that, but he was standing around alone outside, so he figured it was worth a shot. Entering the main hall, he saw only a few workers at the front, and the rest of the party behind them all in the main part of the gallery.

The girl at the podium perked up instantly at his arrival, giving him her sweetest smile and _clearly_  interested. He didn’t pay her any attention, eyes already searching the crowd for Stiles. He stopped in front of her and awkwardly gave his name.

Surprisingly, he _was_  on the list and she motioned him inside, Derek thanking her belatedly. He milled about between all the people, inhaling deeply every few seconds, but he couldn’t catch Stiles’ scent. At one point, he thought he caught it, but it was only the Senator, so he deflated. When he tried to escape from the man without notice—because the guilt of not _actually_  protecting his son was sometimes too much for Derek to bear—he heard his name called and reluctantly turned back to the Senator.

“Good evening, Senator.”

“How are you doing, Derek?” The man gave him a strong pat on the shoulder when he neared him, holding a glass of wine and smiling brightly. “Stiles told me you’d be coming. Was pretty embarrassed about it.” He winked, and Derek wanted to die.

Who knew the Senator was so involved in his employees’ love lives.

“I’m glad, though.” The Senator still had his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “This is good for him. Can’t say I’m too happy about the working relationship aspect of it, but I’m hoping you can keep the two separate and keep it professional while you’re working.”

Derek really didn’t get that comment, but he figured the Senator was concerned Derek would pay more attention to Stiles than he would to keeping Mieczyslaw safe. A funny concept, given to date he _still_  hadn’t met him.

“Yes sir,” Derek said for lack of anything better to say. “Have you seen Stiles, by any chance?”

“He was running behind. Had a paper to submit to one of his professors.” The Senator checked his watch, wine glass tipping ever so slightly at the action. “He should be around shortly.”

Derek still found it weird how attuned the man was with his staff. Given Stiles’ reaction when the man had almost been hurt, Derek couldn’t help but wonder about their relationship. Maybe Stiles was like a second son to him? Derek didn’t know.

He and the Senator made idle chit chat, Derek feeling more and more anxious as time passed. Just when the man started to ask if his son was behaving himself, a familiar scent caught Derek’s attention and he turned his head to see Stiles making his way towards them, grin on his face.

He cleaned up well. Derek was used to seeing him in jeans and graphic tees, but he was actually in a suit today—with a tie and everything!—and he looked positively delicious.

Derek licked his lips unconsciously, and Stiles’ grin widened at the action, stopping beside him and the Senator.

“Stiles,” the Senator greeted.

Said individual mock-bowed, earning him an eye roll. “Senator,” he said formally.

The man turned to Derek, giving him a look. “He thinks he’s cute.”

“I _know_  I’m cute,” Stiles insisted, grabbing Derek’s arm. “Stop hogging Derek, get your own date.”

“I was just keeping him here until you made your grand entrance.” The Senator waved them off with one hand. “Go. Have fun.”

Grinning, Stiles tugged harder at Derek’s arm, pulling him away from the Senator and towards the art pieces on the other side of the hall they were in.

Stiles seemed to be in better spirits, and Derek figured it was because the men gunning for the Senator had been caught. Stiles had likely been working on that paper the last few days, hence the radio silence.

They wandered through the exhibit, and while they weren’t holding hands, Stiles hadn’t let go of his arm, dragging Derek around all over the place and pointing at various things.

It was hot, Derek wanting to remove his jacket, but he didn’t think walking around with a patch of sweat on his back was any better than sweating in general, so he endured it. He could tell Stiles was hot, as well, but he was so excited and speaking so animatedly that Derek didn’t think he even noticed he was warm.

Every now and then, Derek caught Parrish glaring at them from around a corner or across the room, eyes locked on them like he wanted them to spontaneously combust.

Derek was honestly starting to wonder if Parrish might not have a crush on Stiles. He always seemed to be following him around, and he looked pissed whenever he saw Stiles with Derek.

When he leaned down to quietly suggest this to Stiles, half the building turned in their direction at the hysterical laughter that followed this assessment. It went on for a good five minutes, and Derek eventually just covered Stiles’ mouth with one of his hands, the other pulling Stiles into his chest to further smother the laughter.

Most people got bored after a while, but Parrish was still watching and scowling, arms crossed and posture defensive. Derek felt like Parrish probably wanted to see him dead, and was silently plotting his murder.

They were back to wandering around when they bumped into Boyd and a bombshell blonde who fawned all over Stiles, despite him batting her away with both hands.

“You on duty?” Boyd asked Derek while his date started chasing Stiles around a wall covered with paintings.

“No, Stiles got me the night off. And an invite.”

Boyd smiled at that, the first real smile Derek felt he’d ever seen from him. “He did the same for me. He’s considerate that way.”

“Yeah.” They both watched Stiles and the blonde race around like idiots, and Derek turned back to Boyd. “Is Parrish into Stiles?”

Boyd’s previously distracted gaze shot back to Derek, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.

“I sure hope not, Stiles would probably be traumatized. Parrish is like his brother.”

Oh. Well, that explained _everything_.

“Is that why he doesn’t like me, then? Worried I’m going to hurt or defile Stiles?”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Boyd informed him. “And partly. I’d say it’s one part protectiveness, two parts frustration and jealousy.”

“You just said he wasn’t into Stiles.”

“There are a lot of things for him to be jealous of here.”

Boyd’s date returned before Derek could respond, molding herself into his side. Stiles reappeared at Derek’s elbow, breathing hard and pink-faced. His hair was beginning to droop from sweating so much and Derek thought maybe it was time for some air.

Just when he was about to suggest this, Stiles perked up and grabbed Derek’s arm. “Parrish is distracted, let’s get some air.”

Derek allowed himself to be dragged away, but managed to turn and catch sight of _what_  was distracting Parrish.

Apparently, the Senator. Derek figured Stiles didn’t want a babysitter hanging around him, though it wasn’t like Parrish could leave. He was on duty and Derek was sure Mieczyslaw was hanging around somewhere.

It was a wonder Parrish hadn’t _lost_  him with how focussed he was on Stiles.

They made it to the entrance, the people there smiling at them as they exited the stuffy place and headed outside into the cool air. Derek was surprised by how quiet it was outside, barely anyone out walking the streets and only the occasional car passing. He realized why when he checked the time, seeing it was almost eleven, and while it was a Friday, the area they were in wasn’t exactly in the middle of the city.

Stiles began descending the stairs that led back down to the sidewalk, and Derek followed him down, the feel of the cool breeze against his heated skin refreshing. They were both sweaty, and Stiles was still red-faced, but he turned to grin at Derek, and looked like he’d swallowed a skyful of stars.

Stiles always looked happy, but today he looked the happiest Derek had ever seen him, and a part of him hoped it was his doing.

It was weird to think that less than two months ago he’d been bitching at Stiles to get lost. Now, here they were, awkwardly skirting around each other.

And he _still_  hadn’t met Mieczyslaw. He had no idea how he hadn’t been fired yet. He knew he’d deserve it, but right now, as long as he got to keep Stiles, he felt like he didn’t care. Staring at the other, smiling brightly, eyes shining and skin dotted with sweat, Derek was just glad he’d met him.

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the event, sitting down on them and looking out at the passing cars. They were sitting closer together than they needed to be, and Derek saw Stiles casting him looks every now and then. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest and smell the nerves rolling off him in waves.

Derek smiled despite himself, because it was very clear that Stiles was thinking of kissing him. While he’d have liked to wait and see how that played out, he decided to put the poor kid out of his misery. He turned to him, trying to make it look like he was about to say something, and Stiles turned immediately to pay attention.

Without a word or second’s hesitation, Derek reached forward with one hand, dragging his palm across Stiles’ cheek, and leaned forward to press his lips against Stiles’. The pleased gasp he received in response was _extremely_  rewarding and Stiles’ hands buried themselves in the front of Derek’s jacket, pulling him closer and parting his lips.

Derek took the invitation, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, and the taste of him, _God_. Derek could kiss Stiles for hours. Everything about him was just perfect and wonderful, and he never wanted to stop.

Eventually, they did, because Stiles was pushing at his chest and Derek reluctantly pulled back, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth as far as he could before finally releasing it and enjoying how red he’d gotten it.

“Wait,” Stiles said, breathless and pink-cheeked. “Wait, I can’t—we need to talk.”

“Right now?” Derek asked, kissing along his jaw and then right behind his ear. Stiles groaned but just shoved at him again, forcing Derek to release the skin he had between his teeth.

“Yes, now!” He sounded so serious that Derek just sighed and leaned back, staring into his face. Stiles suddenly smelled nervous and scared, but his expression was completely neutral.

“What is it? What couldn’t _possibly_  wait for later?” he demanded. He wasn’t angry, he was just disappointed. Anything Stiles had to tell him seriously probably could have waited.

Stiles rubbed his palms along his thighs, licking his lips and looking away from Derek. “You can’t get mad,” he insisted quietly. “I didn’t—it was never meant to get this far, but I just... I really like you, Derek, and I know telling you this will change things, but I don’t want them to change, and I’m hoping that you’ll just... understand.”

Derek frowned, not liking the sound of that at all. “You’re not married, are you?”

“What?” Stiles looked startled, train of thought momentarily derailed. “No. What?” He shook his head. “Nothing like that. It’s about, well, about who I am.” Stiles took a deep breath. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Stiles, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it seem in your head.”

Stiles didn’t look like he believed him, but he licked his lips again and just when he opened his mouth, a familiar sound reached Derek’s ears. He was so attuned to it that it registered in a split second.

He didn’t even think about it. Years of training took over, and despite Stiles not being someone he was supposed to be protecting, he _cared_  about him, and he was _not_  going to see him hurt.

“Get down!” He tackled Stiles against the stairs, the two of them landing hard on the steps leading down. Pain burned through Derek’s back and he instantly felt ready to vomit. He knew this feeling well, which meant the people coming had done their homework.

“Derek? Derek!” Stiles was pulling himself out from under him and Derek breathed hard through clenched teeth. “Oh my God! Oh my _God_! Derek!”

Stiles was trying to sit him up, but pain lanced through Derek’s entire body at the action. He’d been shot in the back, close to his spine, and normally that wouldn’t be a problem except the bullet currently lodged inside his body was coated in wolfsbane.

Because the people shooting at them were Hunters.

Stiles was hugging Derek to his chest, breathing erratic and heartbeat wicked fast in his chest. He smelled like fear and anxiety and worry, and Derek grunted, trying to get himself upright, but the shot was too perfect. Anywhere else and he’d had been okay for a few minutes, but the location of this bullet was just too perfect.

“Derek, get up. Get up!” Stiles was trying to tug him to his feet, but he was literally dead weight. His legs felt disconnected from the rest of his body, and everything hurt.

“Stiles, go,” Derek forced out, pain spreading through his body. If the wolfsbane hit his heart, he was dead. “Go, get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving without you! Come _on_ , Derek!”

His vision was swimming when he heard doors slam and he turned. He pushed at Stiles to get him back on his ass, then used his own body to shield him, forcing Stiles to stay behind him despite his protests. He snarled at the approaching party, eyes going blue and feeling the wolfsbane spreading faster.

He drew his gun, holding it in one unsteady hand, the other still keeping Stiles behind him. Whatever these assholes wanted, they would _not_  hurt Stiles. He had _nothing_  to do with any of this.

“Look at you,” one of the women approaching them said. “One shot of wolfsbane, and you’re practically useless. Pathetic.”

Stiles’ hands had twisted into the back of Derek’s jacket, and he wished he could calm him down. Stiles sounded like he was hyperventilating, and Derek desperately wished they hadn’t come outside. This hadn’t been how he’d wanted to spend his night at all.

“Dispose of the Wolf,” an older man near the middle of the group said. “Take the kid.”

“No!” Stiles insisted, and Derek had to grab a fistful of his shirt to stop him from standing. “No, don’t hurt him! Please, I’ll come with you! I’ll go with you, I’ll behave, I promise I’ll do _anything_  you want, just don’t hurt him!”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek bit out, gun still aimed but his hand was shaking. It was taking everything he had to just keep it raised.

“Shut up, beast.” The woman at the front moved closer and kicked him across the face. Stiles let out a shout, grabbing him around the middle, and Derek’s gun flew from his hand. Stiles hugged him tightly to his chest, breathing hard, brown eyes wide with fear.

“Please,” Stiles insisted. “Please, just don’t hurt him. I’ll go with you. Just leave him alone.”

The other Hunters were shifting their weight nervously, guns aimed outward, as if waiting for an assault, but the old man near the middle just contemplated the pair huddled on the stairs and nodded.

“I’m in a good mood. You come now, and I won’t kill your bodyguard.”

Wait, what? Oh no! No! They thought this was _Mieczyslaw_!

“Wait,” Derek insisted when Stiles started to pull away from him. He grabbed at Stiles’ shirt, staring desperately at the old man. “You don’t understand, this isn’t Mieczyslaw!”

“Nice try,” the old man drawled, even as Stiles worked at prying Derek’s hands from his shirt. “But that isn’t going to work. We’ve been following him for months, and while your appearance has caused some setbacks, you were stupid enough to come out here _alone_.” He motioned impatiently for Stiles. “Let’s go, Stilinski.”

“Stiles, tell them!” Derek insisted desperately, but when he turned his unfocussed gaze on Stiles, the expression on his face had his heart drop into the soles of his feet.

Stiles looked so upset and ashamed. He was staring down at Derek like he was the most important thing in the world to him, even as he managed to pull away from him, Derek’s hands gripping at nothing.

_It’s about, well, about who I am._

That had been what Stiles was saying. Those had been his exact words seconds before the shot had been fired. Stiles had been trying to tell him something, to admit something about who he was. And as Derek watched him stand and walk towards the group of Hunters, it finally hit him like a ton of bricks.

The old man wasn’t lying.

He wasn’t _fucking_  lying!

Stiles was Mieczyslaw Stilinski!

“Stiles, don’t!” Derek managed to get to his feet but immediately fell to his knees, pain shooting up his legs when they hit the hard ground. One of the Hunters hit him in the face with the butt of his rifle and Derek crumpled, his brain foggy and everything hurting. If he didn’t get the wolfsbane bullet out soon, if he didn’t get treated, he was going to die. And if he died, who would help Stiles? Who would get to Stiles?!

He watched the Hunters push at his back, shoving him forward roughly while Stiles held both hands above his head. He was compliant the entire way to the car parked on the curb and when the back door opened, he was shoved inside roughly.

“Stiles,” Derek forced out, struggling to locate his fallen gun. “Stiles, don’t do this.”

The door slammed, two Hunters on either side of him, and he saw Stiles look out the window. When he spoke, it was so quiet that Derek almost didn’t hear him, and he knew no one in the car had, either, because if they had, they would have hurt him for it.

“Whatever happens, don’t let my dad do anything stupid. Whatever they want, don’t give it to them. Don’t let him ruin everything just for me.”

“Stiles!” Derek tried to crawl forward, not knowing what he would do, but having to do _something_! But he’d barely moved when the three cars peeled away, leaving him bleeding and dying on the sidewalk, breathing hard and mind a mess.

Stiles was gone. He was gone. Stiles had been taken. He was Mieczyslaw, and he’d been taken. He didn’t care that he was the Senator’s son. That didn’t matter. What mattered was he was _Stiles_  and he was _gone_!

His hand finally found his gun and he pulled it closer, rolling onto his back and ignoring the pain in his spine. He aimed upwards and fired. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then he fired again twice in quick succession. This time, he heard the doors above open seconds later and two sets of footsteps racing down the stairs. He caught sight of Boyd out of the corner of his eye, racing towards him with his gun drawn.

“Derek!” He fell down beside him, Parrish right behind him, sweeping the area with his gun raised, face pinched with concentration. “Derek, what happened? Where’s Stiles?!”

“They took him,” he grit out, his back burning. “They took Stiles.”

Then he passed out.

* * *

Derek was disoriented when he came to, but he supposed that was to be expected when he’d almost died. He was lying on his back, staring up at a white ceiling. When he tried to sit up, pain shot through his back and he winced before lying back down. He wasn’t dead, which was good, but he was in a lot of pain and now that he was conscious again, he was slowly starting to remember why he was lying in a hospital bed.

He tried to sit upright but a strong hand pushed him back down and he turned to find Boyd beside him. The man offered him a tight smile, then straightened and crossed his arms, shifting his weight.

“The Senator didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up,” he said in way of explanation.

“Stiles—”

“Still no word.” Boyd’s face darkened. “The Senator is raising hell right now to get him back.”

A part of Derek still hadn’t believed it was true. It seemed completely ridiculous that he could’ve been spending time with Stiles for so many weeks and not gotten even a _hint_  of him being Mieczyslaw, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he _had_  gotten clues. All he could assume was that he was falling so hard for Stiles he chose not to believe that the annoying kid he had a crush on, and the Senator’s troublemaker son were the same person.

“He’s actually him, isn’t he?” Derek asked quietly, wincing when he felt his skin slowly patching itself back together. “Stiles. He’s Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

Boyd said nothing for a long while, and then finally nodded.

Derek cursed and rubbed at his face, dragging both hands down his cheeks before turning to Boyd once more, scowling.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did _nobody_  tell me?” Derek demanded. “I could’ve let something _happen_  to him. Hell, I _did_  let something happen to him!”

Boyd sighed and took a seat in the chair beside the bed, hands held loosely together while he leaned forward. “The thing with Stiles is you can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. He kept running off on all his detail, and no one could ever keep up with him.” Boyd rubbed his hands together. “When you showed up, he started hanging around with you, and for the longest time, most people didn’t know _why_. Parrish was adamant that you were sleeping with him, but he eventually believed the rest of us that you honestly didn’t know who Stiles was. I think that’s what he liked about you. You treated him like anybody else. Hell, you were rude to him the first time you both met.” Boyd let out a small sigh, shaking his head. “We knew that if you found out who he was, you’d start treating him differently. You’re start treating him like Mieczyslaw Stilinski, the Senator’s son, instead of Stiles, and the second you did that, he would run off on you. What you had was working, and after a while, it was clear that you liked him and wouldn’t let anything happen to him. When we saw how you were with him inside the house, and eventually outside the house, we knew he was safe with you. We felt it was best not to say anything.”

“The Senator will be furious when he finds out,” Derek said quietly.

“Maybe, but Lydia knew, and no way is _she_  going to tell him.” Boyd half-smiled. “And she’s not an idiot. Isaac was trailing you whenever you both left the mansion for the first few weeks.”

“Really?” Derek was surprised to hear that, because he hadn’t felt watched or followed at all.

“He’s really good at what he does,” Boyd said in way of explanation. “He’s just about the only person who can keep up with Stiles, but he’s not a bodyguard, that’s not his job, so we mostly had him keeping an eye on things until we were sure everything would be okay, and then...” Boyd shrugged.

Derek wished they’d told him. He understood why they hadn’t, hearing everything Boyd said, but this wasn’t a good thing. His charge had gotten taken because he’d been trying to protect _him_. If he hadn’t let Stiles get so close, if they hadn’t been interested in one another, Stiles would’ve run when Derek told him to. Instead, he’d stayed, and now he was God knew where.

The guilt ate away at his insides, especially when he considered what the Hunters who’d taken Stiles were doing to him. They wanted the Senator to change his vote, everyone with half a brain knew that. It didn’t matter to anyone that it was coercion that would swing the vote the other way, all they cared about was the final number.

“We can’t let the Senator do anything rash,” Derek said quietly.

“They took his son,” Boyd responded, voice just as quiet. “If they asked him to murder the President, he’d do it if it got him Stiles back in one piece.”

They said nothing more for a few moments, and then Derek tensed at the footsteps coming down the corridor. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and hoped the steps would just pass him by, but sure enough, the door opened and in walked Parrish, looking all different kinds of pissed.

Derek was pretty sure his hands were smoking, and his eyes had turned molten red. It was a new and somewhat scary thing to witness.

“I told you,” Parrish snarled, doing a decent impression of a Werewolf for a non-Were. His gaze was locked on Boyd, face contorted angrily. “I _told_  you not to keep him in the dark. Stiles is _missing_  and it’s because you thought it would be smart not to tell him who he was protecting. You _all_  thought!”

“I didn’t protect him any less as Stiles than I would’ve as Mieczyslaw,” Derek snapped angrily. To be honest, if anything, he felt like he wouldn’t have taken a bullet to the spine for a spoiled Senator’s kid, but for Stiles? For Stiles he would take all the bullets he had to.

“Oh really?” Parrish sneered in his direction. “Tell me, then, if you’d known he was Mieczyslaw, would you have brought him outside only _three days_ after the attempt on the Senator’s life?”

Derek stared at Parrish, and he wanted to be defiant and say he would’ve, but if he was honest, there was no way he’d have been that dumb.

When Stiles had been pulling him towards the door, if Derek had known then what he knew now, he would’ve slammed on the brakes and insisted they stay inside or, at least, just outside the doors, closer to the building. He certainly wouldn’t have walked all the way down the stairs to the sidewalk and then sat down and turned his back on the road.

“That’s what I thought,” Parrish said coldly. “If anything happens to him, you’re _all_  to blame. Every single one of you who thought it was a good idea _not_  to tell his bodyguard who he _was_.” Parrish scoffed at Derek. “Some bodyguard. Didn’t even realize the person hanging around you was the same person you were meant to protect. At least I was right, though. Looks like you _are_  sleeping with him.”

Derek snarled, much more impressively than Parrish, eyes burning and fangs pushing past his gums. Parrish’s face began to crack, lines of molten lava appearing on his skin, and Derek could feel Boyd tensing behind him. They were seconds away from an all-out Supernatural battle when the door opened, startling all in the room, and Derek felt his heart sink, the Wolf retreating, when the Senator walked in.

“Now really isn’t the time for that, Parrish,” he said, voice subdued.

Parrish had calmed down instantly, returning to his human appearance as quickly as Derek had. His gaze shifted to the floor when the Senator looked at him, and then he turned to Derek. He looked so broken and utterly defeated that it made Derek want to throw himself at his feet and beg for mercy.

“Senator,” he said, voice tight. “Senator, I’m sor—”

The older man held up one hand to silence him and Derek forced his mouth shut, feeling like shit. Senator Stilinski eyed him for a long while, moving further into the room.

“Are you okay?”

It was such a ridiculous question to ask that Derek wanted to snap at him. Was _he_  okay? Who the fuck cared, Stiles was _missing_!

“I’ll heal,” he finally said when it became clear the Senator wouldn’t leave without an answer.

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Senator, about Stiles—”

He held his hand up more insistently this time, jaw tight and face set in a hard mask. “I don’t want to talk about what happened. You did your job, even while off duty. They got him anyway. I’m getting him back.”

That was when Derek noticed the officers lingering by the door, and for one horrible moment, Derek thought he was being arrested. It quickly became clear that wasn’t the case when the officers came in and asked him questions about what had happened. There was a sketch artist with them and Derek struggled to describe as much as he could about who he remembered.

He figured the Hunters probably thought he’d die before being able to tell anyone about them because the second he was done describing the old man, Parrish bit out a name as if it were a curse word and left the room, pulling his phone out. One of the officers went with him.

“Gerard Argent,” the Senator explained when the second officer and the sketch artist left the room a few minutes later. Derek hadn’t gotten a good enough look at anyone else, but when he mentioned a woman, the police were positive it was Kate Argent.

“I recognize the name,” Derek said.

“Hunter family,” the Senator said, easing into the free chair on Derek’s other side, groaning on his way down and betraying his age. “Very old. Very dangerous. They’ve been against the reforms we’ve been making since they started. Insist Supernaturals should be rounded up like cattle and disposed of.”

“Wish we could say we’re used to it by now, but you never get used to being treated like less than human,” Boyd said angrily, frown on his face. “I also get the pleasure of being Supernatural on _top_  of being African-American, so that’s always fun.”

The Senator offered Boyd a sad smile and promised he was working on a way to improve things for everyone. As he spoke, Derek couldn’t help but feel like he was acting remarkably calm, but it was all a facade. Underneath, he was a panicked mess, and the multitude of scents flowing off him were like a fucking hurricane.

Not that Derek blamed him. He was freaking out pretty badly, too.

They were still discussing the merits of the last Supernatural bill that had passed when the

Senator’s phone rang. He pulled it out without hesitation and frowned.

“It’s a video call from an unknown number,” he said quietly.

“I’ll get the police.” Boyd stood, but the Senator held one hand up to him, frowning down at the phone.

“There’s no time.” He looked up at the two Werewolves. “I’m going to answer it, and you’re both going to stay out of frame and watch what’s happening, and listen to the background noise like Stiles’ life depends on it, because it probably does.”

Derek shifted a bit closer and Boyd hurried around the bed, the two of them out of frame but able to see the screen. The Senator let out a slow breath, then answered the call.

It was like getting shot all over again. The Senator’s heart did something weird in his chest and even Boyd cursed under his breath, too quiet for the phone to pick up but loud enough for Derek to hear.

The phone was angled towards Stiles, who was sitting in a chair in the middle of a dimly lit room. His chest was rising and falling quickly, Derek almost able to smell the terror rolling off him through the phone. His hands were bound behind his back, he had a large piece of duct tape over his mouth, and a large black blindfold over his eyes.

Irrelevant, since he’d already seen his attackers, but he supposed it was a fear tactic. Stiles had no idea what was going on around him, and for someone who was usually very in control of every situation, this had to be killing him.

_“Hello Senator.”_

“I know who this is,” the Senator said, hand tightening around the phone. “The bodyguard you shot identified you.”

 _“I never intended to hide who I was,”_  Gerard said. He moved into screen, walking slowly towards Stiles, back to the camera. He placed one hand on Stiles’ shoulder while moving around him, then put both on either shoulders, squeezing hard. Stiles’ breathing was coming faster, but Derek saw his arms tensing, like he was tugging at his restraints.

“I know what you want,” the Senator said.

_“Good, then this will be quick.”_

Derek tuned out of the conversation, eyes locked on Stiles, and focussed his hearing. It was harder to catch things over the phone compared to when he was somewhere in person, but he was pretty desperate right now, so he felt like his hearing had improved greatly in just the few seconds the call had been connected.

He could hear something in the background, almost like some kind of horn. It came twice, and then went silent. When he glanced at Boyd, he could tell he’d heard the same thing, and he mouthed, “Boat.”

Derek nodded and shifted a little closer, being sure to stay out of frame. The Senator’s voice was loud and overwhelming the other sounds, so he very carefully placed one hand on the man’s knee out of frame, squeezing. He instantly lowered his voice, taking deep breaths to calm down, and Derek frowned. It sounded like there was a lot of foot traffic outside, and he could just barely hear someone shouting about the end being nigh.

His focus snapped when Gerard said something and grabbed a fistful of Stiles’ hair, wrenching his head back and pressing a blade to his exposed throat.

“No, wait! Wait!” the Senator insisted desperately.

Even from here, Derek could see Stiles’ pulse jumping rapidly, his chest still rising and falling quickly, the blade slicing ever so slightly into Stiles’ neck so that a drop of blood slid slowly along a path down his throat.

 _“Sharpened this morning,”_ Gerard said with a cruel smile. _“It would take very little effort to slice right to the bone.”_

“I’ll change my vote,” the Senator said miserably, Stiles making a noise, but his head was just pulled back harder. “I’ll change my vote, Argent. Just let my son go.”

_“After Monday. Once the votes are all in. We’re counting on you, Stilinski. Don’t let us down.”_

The call ended, the last thing any of them seeing being Gerard’s knife pressing into Stiles’ throat.

“Please tell me my son didn’t just die,” the Senator said, voice broken and face blank.

“They’re near water,” Boyd said, looking at Derek. “I could hear boats. I also heard a train crossing lowering near the end there.”

Derek frowned, obviously having missed that while panicking about Stiles. “Does that crazy ‘the end is nigh’ guy hang out near the Aquabus?” he asked. “I think I could hear him in the background. The Aquabus terminal is near a train crossing, and it blows a horn every time it pulls out of the station and into open water.”

“There’re a lot of abandoned industrial buildings out that way,” Boyd agreed. “Feeling up for a roadtrip?”

Derek answered by throwing the sheet off himself and getting to his feet, turning to find his clothes since he was only in a hospital _poncho_ , from the looks of it.

“I’ll get some people together,” Boyd said, moving for the door. “Can I call Scott?”

“Call the fucking army, for all I care, just bring my son back.”

Derek said nothing, pulling his clothes back on. His jacket and shirt were ruined, torn from the bullet and stained with blood, but he pulled them back on anyway. Once he was dressed, he turned back to face the door so he could leave, and found the Senator staring at him. Derek shifted uncomfortably, not really knowing what to say, so he settled for,

“I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault, Derek.” The Senator dragged both hands down his face. “I knew it would happen eventually. Stiles kept telling me he didn’t want this life, but I didn’t listen to him. And now he’s...”

“Stiles was only ever scared for you,” Derek said quietly. “He cares about you a lot.”

“I’m glad he has you,” the older man said. “Truly. I was a little apprehensive at first, when he told me, but,” he sighed. “You’re a good man, Derek.”

“Hopefully a good man about to bring your son home,” he said quietly.

“That’s the hope.” The Senator stood, turning to the door, then back to look at Derek. “Don’t let anyone get killed out there. These Hunters are smart and experienced. They’ll suspect someone is coming for him.”

“Good thing Supernaturals always come prepared,” Derek said with a small smile, then moved past the other man out the door.

* * *

Kevlar was probably the most _uncomfortable_  thing in the world, but Derek didn’t much feel like getting another wolfsbane bullet to the spine, so he tolerated it. The police had told the Senator’s staff to leave the rescue mission to the professionals, but it was laughable that they thought any of them would listen.

People Derek had never even met had shown up for the assault once he and Boyd had sniffed out the warehouse Stiles was in. Stiles’ friend Scott was there, wolfed out with glowing red Alpha eyes and looking ready to murder people if the assault didn’t start soon. There was a Japanese girl Derek had never seen before standing by one of the police cruisers with a sword strapped to her back. Even Lydia was there, pointing things out on a blueprint with Parrish at her side, nodding along to everything she said.

It should’ve been a quick and easy assault, their numbers far larger than the Hunters’ inside. But just as they had come prepared, the Hunters were prepared, too.

The first thing they did was throw out wolfsbane gas, and any of the Werewolves who hadn’t been wearing their gasmasks at the time had immediately hit the ground. One of them had been smart and held his breath, but he bolted out of the cloud of smoke as quickly as he could.

It was harder for Derek to tell friend or foe once they got inside, his sense of smell hindered by the gasmask, but he mostly just looked for someone aiming a gun at him and fired without hesitation.

Boyd tackled him at one point, something large and in flames flying over their heads, and Derek realized—quite startled—that it was Parrish. He had no idea what he was, but he was definitely _not_  something he wanted to fight.

Progress was slow-going, because they kept encountering setbacks and traps. No one on their side had died yet, as far as he knew, but there were a lot of injuries, and Derek felt like the humans in the group were faring the best. Ironic, considering they didn’t have the ability to heal injuries in seconds, but they had a lot less targeted at them.

Almost like the Hunters _knew_  which ones were human, and which ones weren’t.

The entire time they fought to hit the second floor, all Derek could think about was how Gerard could’ve killed Stiles already. He could’ve literally just seen the people outside coming for him, and sliced his throat open. It made panic rise in his chest, and more than once, Boyd had turned to punch him in the arm, telling him to focus.

 _This_  was why bodyguards could _not_  get attached to their charges. Derek was a panicked mess, and he didn’t know if he would be able to handle seeing Stiles dead. He would skin Gerard alive if he found Stiles dead.

When they finally reached the second floor, Scott leapt out of nowhere and took down one of the Hunters with his teeth, his gasmask hanging around his neck. Derek thought that was a stupid idea, but he didn’t argue since it cleared a path.

He and Boyd shot at a figure hiding around a corner, their advance slow-going. Finally, they reached a room with a closed door and Derek kicked it open while Boyd covered him.

His heart sank instantly and he ripped the gasmask off.

Stiles was still sitting in the same chair, wrists bound behind his back, tape over his mouth, blindfold tied around his head. The difference between then and now was that his body was slumped forward, head bowed, and Derek smelled blood.

He instantly panicked, racing forward and falling to his knees in front of him.

“Stiles? Stiles!” He took the other’s head in both hands and raised it. There were shallow cuts on his neck, but nothing serious. The blood he could smell was from the left side of his head, and for one, horrified moment, Derek thought he’d been shot.

Digging his fingers into the wound desperately, attempting to determine if it _was_  a bullet that had gone into Stiles’ skull, the other let out a weak sound of pain and Derek could breathe again. It was nothing. He was fine. He’d just been hit with something heavy.

“Stiles, it’s Derek,” he said, as if his voice wouldn’t be enough of a clue for him. He pulled the blindfold off, but Stiles didn’t open his eyes. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

He heard Boyd curse and let off two shots, but he had to trust that he could hold his own.

Derek sliced through the ropes binding Stiles’ wrists together and to the chair. His skin was raw where he’d been fighting to free himself and Derek felt anger rising, hot and unwelcome. He wanted to rip Gerard apart with his bare hands, but right now, he had to focus on Stiles. He reached up to rip the tape off his mouth, wincing at the sound it made leaving his skin, but Stiles barely even grunted in response.

“Okay, come on,” Derek said, shifting to grab Stiles beneath the knees and shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Stiles was dead weight in his arms, but he arranged him as best he could so he wouldn’t fall, head slumped against Derek’s shoulder, and then turned to head back out of the room. Boyd cast him a glance, then looked out into the corridor again.

“I think they’ve got Gerard cornered further down.”

“Go,” Derek said. “I’ll get him out.”

Boyd nodded, rearranged his grip on his gun, and then hurried down the corridor. Derek took his time exiting the building, just in case there were hidden Hunters or traps they’d missed. When he finally reached the door, he sped up to a jog, carrying Stiles in his arms, and Lydia practically screeched his name before rushing towards them.

Derek let her poke and prod at him urgently, voice strident and almost painful to listen to, but he just hurried past the squad of police cars and met the paramedics halfway to the ambulance, setting Stiles down on the gurney and the men quickly strapping him down.

He wanted to ride with him, but Lydia was already climbing into the back, speaking quickly into her phone, and all he could do was watch the doors shut and the ambulance drive away, sirens wailing.

With nothing else to do, Derek turned to head back into the warehouse. He needed to take his anger out on something, and apparently, Gerard was still alive.

Perfect.

* * *

When a hand fell onto his shoulder, Derek started rather violently and jerked into a straighter position in his chair, looking up at Lydia, who was smiling down at him, looking as exhausted as he felt.

“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes, a yawn cracking his jaw.

“Just past five in the morning,” she said. “The Senator just went to get coffee. I told him you were still waiting out here, so he said to bring you in.” She laughed a little. “Even Scott and Parrish left. I can’t believe you stuck around.”

“It was my fault,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “I couldn’t—”

He froze when something hit him hard over the head. When he turned, Lydia was scowling down at the clipboard she’d been holding, which was now broken in half.

“Damn Werewolves, I liked that clipboard,” she muttered, pulling the papers off it and then tossing the broken pieces onto the seat Derek had just vacated. “This wasn’t your fault. It would’ve happened no matter what. The important thing is he’s back, and he’s all right.”

“He is?” Derek asked, feeling the tightness in his chest ease up slightly.

“Yes. He woke up about an hour ago.” She frowned. “Didn’t you hear him?”

Derek shook his head and let her lead the way. “I was probably already asleep by then.”

“Maybe.” She yawned widely, covering her mouth with one hand, and shook her head. “I’m going to head home soon. Get some sleep. It’s been a long night.”

“Yeah.” He followed along behind her in silence for a few seconds, then said, “Am I fired?”

Lydia turned to give him a weird look. “Why would you be fired?”

“I lost the Senator’s son.”

“You got shot for him, almost died, and then saved him. Pretty sure that’s all part of the job description.” She sighed. “Besides, Stiles will just run off on his detail again. Better to keep you, and just hope you both work out so you don’t end up quitting. Why does Stiles have to make my life so complicated? I’m just trying to pay the bills.”

Derek felt his heart pounding at the implication that he could both protect _and_  date Stiles. Though, considering what had happened, he didn’t know how Stiles felt about the dating thing. Derek was still pretty pissed about being lied to, but he was willing to give Stiles a chance to explain himself.

Lydia stopped in front of a door, motioning it, as if the two police officers stationed outside weren’t obvious enough.

“All yours.”

“Thank you.”

“Mmhm. I’ll let the Senator know you’re in there. Keep it PG, he could be back at any moment.”

Derek scowled at her, but she managed a tired smile, winked, and then turned on her heel to walk away. He watched her go until she disappeared around a corner, then let out a slow breath and pushed open the door.

He was glad he was a Werewolf, because he ducked what looked like a book that was thrown at his head, the item flying out the still open door. He turned to stare at it incredulously, then faced Stiles again, who looked _extremely_  put out. Derek’s heart sank, thinking the worst, but then Stiles spoke and he instantly wanted to face-palm.

“I can’t believe you carried me out of there damsel in distress style!” Stiles all but shouted, flailing one arm angrily. “You couldn’t have thrown me over your shoulder like a sexy fireman?!”

Derek sighed in exasperation and shut the door, moving closer to the bed. “You had a head wound,” he reminded him.

“And a pride wound now, too!” Stiles insisted. “My poor, poor pride! It’s wounded! Mortally _wounded_!”

“You’ll live.” Derek stopped beside him, hands in his pockets, and stared down at the damage. A part of Stiles’ head was shaved and bandaged up. He had more bandages on his wrist, but his neck just looked like it had been cleaned and then left to air out, remaining uncovered.

All in all, it could’ve been worse. _Much_  worse. He hadn’t lost any fingers. Or ears. Derek scowled at the thought and Stiles reached up, motioning for him to come closer. Sighing, Derek sat in the seat the Senator had probably been occupying, and Stiles’ fingers found his forehead, rubbing at it until the crease disappeared.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles.”

“Tragic.”

Stiles half-smiled at that, but it faded quickly. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“Isn’t that my line?”

“You were shot with a wolfsbane bullet,” Stiles reminded him.

“I’m fine. It healed. I carried you out damsel in distress style, remember?”

Derek smiled a little at the offended look on Stiles’ face, but they both sobered fairly quickly, staring at one another and not speaking. Stiles was the first to look away, playing with the edge of the sheet covering the bottom half of his body.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Derek asked quietly. He could tell by the way Stiles sighed that he’d been expecting—and dreading—the question.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, avoiding Derek’s gaze. “I wanted to, please, believe me.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “At first, when I’d corrected you on my name and you thought I was introducing myself as a different person, not gonna lie, I found it hilarious.” His eyes shifted to look at Derek and he smiled a little, but looked away quickly thereafter, focussed on the fingers playing with the sheet. “As time passed though, I realized how much I _liked_  spending time with you. I liked that you treated me like a normal person, that I wasn’t someone you had to jump on every time someone slammed a car door.” Stiles sighed and leaned back a bit on the raised bed. “Since my dad became Senator, I’ve felt like a different person. I didn’t want to _be_  that different person, but it kind of comes with the territory, and I hate it. I don’t _want_  to be Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Senator’s son. I just want to be Stiles. _Just_  Stiles. And you...”

Stiles trailed off, then sighed and raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head and finally looking at Derek again.

“You made me feel like I could _be_  just Stiles, and I didn’t want to lose that. I knew you’d act different as soon as I told you who I was, so I was too scared to. I didn’t want things to change.”

“But you were going to tell me,” Derek reminded him. “Last night.”

“I didn’t think it was fair,” Stiles said quietly. “I didn’t think it was right of me to start something with you when you didn’t know I was, not only Mieczyslaw, but also the Senator’s son.”

As far as explanations went, this was a pretty good one. Derek felt like he could see things from Stiles’ perspective, and he’d also said a lot of the same things Boyd had mentioned. Stiles had never wanted this, but he didn’t have a choice. He was stuck with this, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try and make the best of it. He didn’t like being treated differently, and he’d probably been thrilled when Derek had literally told him to get lost.

It explained why he’d been grinning and cackling when they’d first met. He was probably laughing at how dense Derek was.

 _Derek_  was laughing at how dense he was. He just kept thinking that his earlier assumption was why. He liked Stiles, and acknowledging that he was _truly_  Mieczyslaw meant he couldn’t have him.

Except the Senator hadn’t known Derek wasn’t aware Stiles was his son, and he was fine with it. Lydia had also mentioned it was fine. And Stiles _seemed_  fine with it.

“I’m very protective,” Derek warned. “And territorial.”

“I know.” Stiles grinned. “Scott keeps whining that I smell like you.”

“Better than lemon-scented cleaner,” he grumbled. “That killed my nose, by the way.”

“I didn’t want you sniffing me out,” Stiles insisted. “Especially after that first day, I couldn’t just have you _know_  it was me.” He grinned again.

Derek sighed, shaking his head, and scooted the chair closer. He leaned forward to press careful lips to the bandage on Stiles’ head, taking his hand in one of his and rubbing his thumb gently across the smooth skin.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, right?”

“Not literally, I hope.” Stiles leaned up to press his lips lightly against Derek’s. “I’d like to keep you around.”

“I’ll check my schedule,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ lips, kissing him again.

Stiles buried his free hand into Derek’s hair, clenching the strands between his fingers and pulling him closer. Derek reached up to drag his palm across Stiles’ cheek, leaving his hand there and parting his lips to deepen the kiss when someone cleared their throat loudly behind him.

They jerked apart, Derek stumbling to his feet. The Senator was standing in the open doorway, eyebrows raised and coffee in one hand.

“Senator,” Derek said awkwardly.

“Senator,” Stiles echoed seriously.

The man rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh and moving past Derek, patting him on the shoulder.

“Go home, Derek. My idiot son will still be here for you to protect in the morning.”

“Technically it _is_  morning,” Stiles insisted. “Did you get your vote in?”

“I did.” The Senator groaned while sitting down, setting his coffee on the side table where water sat for Stiles. “Given what happened, everyone was amenable to my early submission. They’ll announce the outcome on Monday, as planned.”

Stiles beamed. “You’re the best, dad.”

“Uh huh.” He shifted his gaze to Derek. “I figure I have to protect those who protect us.”

Derek half-smiled at that, and looked at Stiles. “I should go. You need sleep, and I’m on shift later.”

“Maybe I’ll just come over and we can be on shift in your bed.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows and the Senator groaned.

“Not things I need to know, Stiles.”

“What? You have to know we’re going to eventually do the hanky panky.”

“Stiles,” his dad said, exasperated. “It’s been a long night. Try to leave me at one heart attack at a time.”

“So dramatic.” Stiles turned to grin at Derek again. “I’ll see you later.”

“Sure.” Derek hesitated, and he knew he shouldn’t, but he bent down and kissed Stiles lightly anyway. The Senator didn’t seem to mind, which was comforting, and Derek bid them both farewell before leaving the room and heading down the corridor.

He sighed on his way back outside, heading for the taxis lined up around the side of the hospital since he didn’t have his car. It was presumably still at the gallery; he’d have to figure out a good time to go and get it since they were likely closed this early.

When Derek gave his address, he leaned back in his seat, staring out the window, and let a smile cross his features. Maybe Stiles hadn’t told him how important he truly was, but Derek felt like that didn’t matter.

Stiles was important to _him_ , and for a whole different reason.

Stiles, or Mieczyslaw, or whatever. It didn’t matter. He was Derek’s, and bodyguard or not, he would protect him with his life.

Derek was really glad he’d told that stupid kid to get lost.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I had to spell Mieczyslaw so many times for this fic that I can now spell it without looking it up.  
> Also the number of times I almost wrote “Sheriff” instead of “Senator” is ridiculous. I probably _did_ write Sheriff in here somewhere, I’m sure!


End file.
